


The Color of Orange

by DaifukuBun



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, flowers or something, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 95,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaifukuBun/pseuds/DaifukuBun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is at this precise moment that Shinji learns two things. One, lampposts are really, really weird, because they are often in the middle of the walkway where they are most inconvenient. Two, the sound that a human skull makes when it slams into a lamppost at remarkable speed is absolutely and undeniably cringe-worthy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Their Duty

**Author's Note:**

> When the season is spinning, spinning...

Lampposts are a strange thing to have planted in the middle of the street, Shinji decides that day. It's not that they're doing anything wrong by being where they are, standing rigid and tall with their shining black paint and buzzing flock of insects. In fact, he thinks they're doing a service, illuminating streets and all. However, despite all their importance, their dutiful aesthetic is not what they are destined to represent on this day.

The afternoon is as indecisive as it is nice. As the breeze is biting, his hands do not feel comfortable free from the confines of his sleeves – yet, the sun's rays beat down on his scalp, so they don't quite feel at home in his pockets, either. In the end, he settles on picking loose balls of fabric off the front of his shirt. He's well aware that this looks a little odd as he toddles along the pavement, but today is, in fact, one of seldom days in which he cannot bring himself to care. It's hard to catch a person such as Shinji being apathetic as to what people are thinking of him, but as he stares below at his shoelaces swinging forward and back, he chalks it up to be a fault of the quirky weather.

It's widely known as difficult to pick up on a single, unfamiliar sound when immersed in the noise of several others. This is why, when in a cloud of hurried footsteps, Shinji does not expect a swift gust of wind on his left to ruffle him quite so thoroughly. He halts the ministrations to his sweater, and in sudden shock and shiver, his head snaps upward. His eyes are first assaulted by the overwhelming rays of the sun, before they adjust and he finally registers the clustered crowd he is currently immersed in. Immediately his fingers grip each other out of expectant turmoil, and while he wishes that he had kept staring below, at his hands toying with the loose threads of his shirt, he can't help but be distracted at the sight of an utterly amusing, floundering stranger amidst a crowd of equally buzzing people.

This stranger is flighty in everything he does. He's lanky, even in comparison to the shiny black lamppost he is currently standing next to, and he appears to do a sort of tip-toe gesture in order to avoid bumping hips with anyone walking by. If Shinji can say one thing, it's that he's, well, weirdly graceful. That is, not quite graceful within the concept that is beauty, but rather the sort of odd, almost creepy graceful one would get from staring into a broken mirror.

Shinji's fingers tie knots with each other as he blinks and watches this stranger bumble around. For a moment he thinks it's odd that the guy isn't moving with the crowd, but then he remembers that he's not moving, either, and in a usual fit of hypocrisy he feels a little sheepish. He looks down at the ground once more in preparation to continue his commute home, before he blinks at the glare of laminated, rectangular card-stock coupled with the startling fashion statement of messy white hair and a confident smile.

Shinji mumbles out a noncommittal sound, peering down at the card that is staring back up at him from the ground. “Hm.”

What a weird looking person, he thinks, easing downward to grab and flick the card in between his index and middle finger.

Shinji then stands, and he stares at the card uselessly for approximately twenty seconds. Then, for another five seconds, the gears of his mind are at work. Hm.

He looks up at the stranger once again, and indeed, the resemblance between him and the face on the card was uncanny. White, messy hair being tossed around by the breeze, a hard trend to mistake. This also explains the lanky guy's tendency to dance around people and stare feverishly at the ground, gaze roving this way and that, obviously looking for something.

Shinji creeps forward, still enveloped in an uncomfortable cocoon of ornery crowd-goers. Holding the card gingerly between his two fingers, he approaches the lanky guy, who for the longest time doesn't even notice him.

“Um.” Shinji tries. He finds himself saying that a lot, these days.

The guy's attention snaps from the foot of a lamppost to Shinji, who is steadily feeling more and more reclusive at this sudden slope of social activity.

“Oh!” the white-haired guy gasps and sighs at the same time. A wide, flat beam splits his face and he reaches out for the card that obviously belongs to him, before Shinji, being the graceful person that he is, drops it on the ground again. An apparent case of butter-fingers, and to him, one of those moments in which he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

The frantic stranger doesn't seem to care, though, for as the flimsy piece of card-stock whistles behind him in the breeze, he begins to breathe quickly as if his entire life-savings is flying away with the wind. His body whips around and he quickly bends to snatch the card, and it is at this precise moment that Shinji learns two things. One, lampposts are really, really weird, because they are often in the middle of the walkway where they are most inconvenient. Two, the sound that a human skull makes when it slams into a lamppost at remarkable speed is absolutely and undeniably cringe-worthy. His hands curl close to each other as he clenches his jaw and half-closes one eye.

A minuscule, choked sound is heard over the crowd before the pale guy slides onto the ground, head still propped onto the shiny lamppost.

The crowd keeps moving around them, oblivious despite an obviously unconscious person and another who seems to be experiencing nervous convulsions. Shinji sweats profusely as he looks down at the guy in horror. He blinks, once, and then twice. His gaze then turns to the dandy sky once more.

_Why me?_ he wonders to himself, before retrieving his mobile phone from its pocket shelter.

O

He just wants to go home and make some soup.

Shinji's nails tap wordless tunes into the rough plastic armrest of his current waiting chair as he stares up at a dotted white ceiling. He's never been very fond of waiting rooms, or the color white, for that matter. They make him feel like he's alone. Which, funnily enough, he is.

Really, though, he wants to make soup. He had been looking forward to it all day, enough that he hadn't paid any attention to today's lecture. This fact is not surprising, though, as it's rather like Shinji to think of slicing carrots when he should be taking notes on the scientific world of bioengineering.

Then, he realizes something. Does he really have any obligation to stick around? Once more, he blinks at the ceiling.

The weird guy had been alone. Of course, it was the right thing to do to call for help, and Shinji (with a few exceptions) generally tries to do the right thing. After hoping uselessly to coax the guy awake with his hands, Shinji had sighed and dialed for a ride, as he knew that the nearest medical facility was at least a mile away. Now that the mysterious stranger is safely being cared for, Shinji doesn't really see why he needs to stick around. He could be at home making soup right now. Nibbling at his worn lip, he contemplates the idea. Out of habit, he feels around for his phone in his pocket. After pulling it out, he stares at its clock for about 30 seconds, eyelids slowly narrowing. Then, he sniffs. What is he waiting for?

Pocketing his phone once again, he stands on two feet, heading for the descending staircase.

O

It's when he's in his quiet room, stirring a sad-looking pot of soup on a portable stove, that he remembers something possibly vital, depending on how one looks at it. His hand stills on the ladle and his lips bunch up to form a thoughtful pout.

The guy's card is still lying around on the concrete of a busy walkway somewhere along his commute home. Shinji rubs his forehead with his sleeve, smearing around condensation from the rising steam. He doesn't want to go back outside tonight. It's dark, for one. He doubts he would even be able to find it in the nightly black blanket. Not only that, but he's never liked the feeling of leaving his room when everything outside is perhaps quieter.

In an attempt at distraction, he stirs the soup once again. Going out now would be pointless. If he's going to do anything, it's go out again tomorrow and look for it when he can actually see. But then, he thinks that it would get tossed around in the buzzing traffic of the usual morning commute.

Shinji cranes his neck to peer at the door. Then, he turns back to his soup. What is the right thing to do, he wonders. He crinkles his nose.

A tiny bubble pops in the pot, splashing outward and grazing his hand. Shinji yelps and frantically blows on the new burn.

O

Now sporting a plaster with little orange penguins on it, Shinji tramples around the pavement. It isn't long before he reaches the third lamppost along the line, and his stomach rumbles. He sighs and searches the ground near its jet black base, and glowers at nothing when he once again finds no laminated card.

He moves along to the next one, and again, there is nothing.

Then, another.

Another.

Finally he is at about his fourteenth lamppost and his last strand of patience when he sees something vaguely familiar shining on the ground. Filled with relief and joy, Shinji jogs to the item, picks it up, and pockets it as if it's a shiny new trophy.

O

“I brought someone in with me yesterday.”

The receptionist blows a bubble of bright pink gum before it pops across her face.

“You don't say.” she drawls after pulling the mass back into her mouth. Shinji blinks, mildly affronted.

“Yeah.”

Behind her fiery fringe, the receptionist crinkles her eyes the slightest bit. It's like her silent way of laughing at him.

“I'm gonna need a name.” she supplies, looking away from Shinji and to her computer monitor. She stares at it, and Shinji supposes it's not because she's busy, but rather because it's more comfortable than watching him juggle his words this place and that.

It then occurs rather suddenly that Shinji has no idea what the guy's name is. He stands silent for a few seconds, and the girl behind the counter turns to him once again, quirking an eyebrow.

“What's the hold-up?”

Shinji is about to confess that he doesn't know and make himself look even more heavy-headed, before he remembers the card nestled safely in his jacket pocket. Swiftly, he pulls it out, holding it close to his face to inspect what is written upon it.

“... Nagisa.” Shinji murmurs.

The receptionist does not say anything as she automatically inputs the information into her keyboard. Shinji fills his cheeks with air as he waits. He notices that the gum the receptionist is chewing is a near identical shade of pink to that of her scrubs.

She clicks her tongue.

“Door's right there actually, to your right. Should be all clear.”

Shinji nods and quietly thanks her, to which she snorts.

O

He feels like he's intruding. Shinji glares up at the door number that is only slightly higher than his face. He licks his lips. Does he just walk in? Does he knock? What does one even do in this kind of situation? His fist hovers near the door, before he drops it back to his side. Perhaps he could just slide the card under the door...

“Whoever you are, I can see your shadow from under the door. Please come in.”

Shinji jolts, hunching his shoulders and pinching his eyes shut for a split second. Embarrassing...

He sighs and does as he's told, but not before pushing the door when it was meant to be pulled. The very click of his shoes feels wrong as he steps into that stiff, white room. Shinji has never liked the hue of white. Which is why it feels so weird to simply look at the guy sitting up on the bed in the center of the room, whose pale hair rivals even the walls.

Shinji feels like a deer caught in the headlights as the guy... Nagisa, if he remembers correctly, blinks at him once, twice, and then three times. He runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Oh!” Shinji blurts. “Um, you were looking for this yesterday, so I went back to get it, eheh.” he fishes around in his pocket. “Here you go.”

Nagisa moves back slightly at the offered card, and Shinji feels like he belongs literally anywhere other than where he is at this moment in time. He always does things like this, as if he's programmed to do exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, whether it be overstepping his boundaries or keeping quiet when he's told to speak. However, it would seem, that he's not the only person guilty of this fault.

Shinji feels the card being pulled from his hand. He prepares to duck his head in shame and leave the room, but his efforts are interrupted when he feels his hand being suddenly clamped by something. He's hardly aware of his arm being shaken. Is this what a handshake feels like? … Has he ever gotten a handshake before?

Shinji stares at the wall, catatonic.

“Thank you, you saved my life yesterday!” Nagisa beams. Shinji feels his eye twitch.

“It's just a card.”

“It's a very important card.”

“Okay.”

_Okay._ Shinji mentally slaps himself, perhaps the most charismatic conversationalist ever, in the face.

After an oddly long handshake, Shinji finally turns in an arc straight to the door. He puts his hand on its handle, sighing through his nose.

“I wish you luck, then, Nagisa. Well, with the life that I guess I saved. Yeah.”

“Call me Kaworu.”

“Okay.” Mental slap.

“You too.”

“Okay.”

“What's your name?”

“Ikari.”

“Okay.” Kaworu parrots.

Shinji wants to laugh, but he doesn't. He turns the door knob.

“Ikari?”

“Yes?”

“You have a very cute face.”

And with that, Shinji's hand stutters away from the door knob, before he's left quietly shaking and wheezing into the pallid air of a hospital room.


	2. Anterograde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unable to move from the weight of the embraced words...

“Heh?” Shinji sputters, turning out of instinct. He faintly feels himself quirking one eyebrow, and he is definitely sure that he has taken a backward step towards the door.

Kaworu lets loose this lazy half-smile, as if he's used to doing it and it comes as second nature. Shinji crinkles his nose and takes another step back. There is a momentary, completely unsurprising bout of awkward silence. Shinji coughs. Kaworu shifts his gaze down to the sheets.

“Right... okay.” Shinji mutters, already leaving.

“I'm serious, it looks squishy. You have such a baby face.” Kaworu calls, as if it's going to stop the brunet from leaving.

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome.”

Thoroughly exasperated, Shinji puts his hand on the door handle and pushes it downward. Soon enough the door is open, and he is stepping into the hallway.

“Won't you stay a little longer?” Shinji hears, and within that same second he feels his eye twitch.

“What for?”

“I always enjoy a pleasant conversation.” Kaworu supplies, matter-of-fact. Shinji turns his head nearly completely around to deliver a tired glare. Feeling peeved and agitated, he wonders just what sort of outlandish planet Kaworu had descended from and just how much it hurt when he hit the ground.

Oblivious, the bedheaded boy bounces a little and continues to smile. Shinji experiences the strange urge to flick him on the forehead and halt his cutesy, happy-go-lucky act.

“You are seriously weird.” he says, shutting the door behind him.

O

Shinji sniffs and feels his eyes water as the lemony scent of cleaning supplies reaches his nose. He stares intently at the lady in the mint green scrubs, who continues to sing to herself as she mops the stairs. Her eyes trail up to him, and she ogles at him for a moment, before winking under her bright red glasses and flashing him a peace sign. Abruptly, he turns around, wondering if it's even normal to mop stairs. He's not sure how else one would clean them, really, but the task of doing so seems dangerous and tedious.

“You're gonna be stuck up here for a while.” chimes the receptionist from behind the counter, the one with the pink bubble gum. “Elevator's down, and once she gets going, she does _not_ stop.”

“Okay.” he mutters. His eyes shift around for a moment. In this situation, should he sit down? All he's doing is waiting for a janitor to finish cleaning the stairs, which, when he thinks about it, seems extremely silly. Shinji waddles over to a neat row of waiting chairs and slowly takes a seat. He puffs out his lip, and prepares himself for a lengthy, pointless wait.

Before long, he realizes that he's jiggling his knee along with the song the janitor lady is singing. He can't discern the words for the life of him, all he knows is that it's catchy, and that there is a “meow” thrown into the lyrics here and there. A few yards away he hears the receptionist gripe at her to 'stop the goddamn singing already', but he doesn't really notice, as he's ever-so-slowly zoning out. He always does that, he finds. Shinji feels as though he has never been one hundred percent present in a conversation, not once in his life. It's a problem, really. He should probably get around to solving it. Another day, though. Today, he's too tired. He doesn't even realize he's shutting his eyes, and--

“Hello.”

Shinji emits a noise that is either akin to a “hwaha” or a “whoarg”. His head whips to the right, and suddenly his face is far too close to another simpering one.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” he screeches, standing up at the speed of light.

Kaworu blinks up at him. “What's the matter?”

“Do you have to sit that close?” he says, inhaling the words, making himself sound like a fish floundering around in a sweltering desert.

“Yes.”

Shinji's eye twitches, and he hears the janitor on the stairs laugh. He hopes she isn't laughing at his misery, but at this point he would not be surprised if such is the case.

“Why?”

Kaworu shrugs. “Because I wanted to wake you up. You might hurt your neck if you fall asleep sitting down.”

Shinji has the urge to remind Kaworu that he was the one who hurt his _head_ quite drastically after ramming it into a lamppost, but he feels that now is not exactly the time for that. In fact, he feels like now isn't really the time to say anything. Shinji merely fumes in his own, quiet way, and directs a bewildered stare at the pale guy in the chair. After a long bout of this staring, Kaworu has the nerve to give him a tiny wave of his hand.

“Hello?” he calls.

“Hi.” Shinji growls.

“How are you today?”

“Fantastic.”

“That's nice. What's your name?”

Shinji blinks, withdrawing his defenses. Kaworu's smile widens. Shinji blinks again.

“I already told you that.”

The janitor on the stairs lilts out a meow. The receptionist behind the desk pops her bubble gum.

“I must have forgotten.”

Shinji narrows his eyes, deciding not to bring up that he had told him less than ten minutes ago. Kaworu tenses up just the slightest bit.

“Ikari.” he says, and the way in which he does so makes it sound like he hates the feeling of it on his tongue. Shinji folds his arms, admitting to himself that he is curious as to just what is going through Kaworu's head.

“Ikari...” Kaworu tries. “Hm. I like it.” he nods, with a sudden contemplating look on his face.

Shinji is about to reply that he, the owner of the name, is not very fond of it, when he is interrupted by a call from below.

“All done!” pipes the janitor, straining her voice so that she'll be heard despite them being on separate floors.

“Took you long enough!” the receptionist shouts back, and in his head, Shinji cannot agree more. However, as he generally tries to be polite (tries), he refrains from saying anything and simply turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait, Ikari!”

Shinji pauses but he does not turn around. He awaits the worst.

“You have a really cute face!”

“Ugh!”

O

All throughout his life, Shinji has been the type of guy to be gently sarcastic with everyone, including himself. He's not sure, entirely, just how one achieves a gentle sarcasm, but he manages, nonetheless. All the same, he has always marveled at his truly remarkable amount of luck. He has always been the one to get splashed by mud thanks to an oncoming truck, as well as the one to find a strange hair in his soup that most certainly did not come from his own head. That said, it's no surprise that he seems to have misplaced his rather expensive cell phone, exactly where, he does not know. Briefly, as he stands with his arms folded, peering around at his tiny, dissected studio apartment, he wonders where his priorities lie. There he had gone, tearing his living space apart in search of a simple phone. Perhaps he should have invested in a larger place to live rather than an advanced phone that gets far too many local weather warnings.

He stares a bit at his raggedy carpet, before rolling his shoulders, turning, and pulling a gray sweatshirt over his head. The fact remains that the phone is not in this tiny room, but elsewhere, and before he walks out the door, he pauses, glancing at himself sidelong in his orange-stained mirror that has been on that same wall since before he can remember.

Pursing his lips, he wipes a gathering of dust off his forehead with his sleeve. It's no wonder that such a smear would appear there after unearthing everything in his possession. He looks at himself a moment longer, blinking sporadically. Bunching up his sleeves in his fists, he places both hands on his cheeks. Then, he squishes. Shinji's eyes turn into weird little half moons, and his lips morph into an oblong zig-zag. He is well aware that he still has quite a lot of baby fat on his face, but to be considered cute...

Well, that's preposterous.

O

The walkways near his decrepit building yield no luck in Shinji's search for his cell phone. He sighs into the musky air, and realizes abruptly how cold he is. With a watering blink of his eyes, he half-sneezes, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. As he treads along the pavement again and again, he wonders if it's worth it to be searching like this. After all, it's just a cell phone, right? There are definitely replacements for those. Yeah, he decides, he should just buy another one.

As he begins heading back to his marginally warmer little room, he has a sudden thought, stops in his tracks, and frowns.

A new phone means he loses everything on the old one. This includes his pictures, his study materials, and whatever minuscule contact information he has within it. However, Shinji is rather unsurprised to realize that those petty things mean nothing to him in comparison to what is truly important on that insanely expensive device.

Clenching a fist in comic determination and huffing in an exaggerated manner, he turns on his heel, resuming the search with recovered vigor. It is often said that valuables kept within the realm of technology are too easily lost, and that people, as a whole, take those things for granted. Once the device it gone, the information will be lost, as well.

Yes, Shinji Ikari, rather than fearing the loss of his pictures or his to-do lists, searches feverishly for his phone, if only to reclaim the mobile gaming high scores that are rightfully his.

O

It's not long later that he makes the decision to retrace all of his steps from days already lived, as after a while he had realized that walking in circles in the terrace of his apartment complex was not accomplishing much. His lips are pursed and he gazes simultaneously at both the ground and his feet, trying to find hope in the act of doing so. Of course, he has considered that someone may have picked up such a flashy device and taken it as their own. In fact, he surmises, that's probably what happened.

Shinji immediately feels like an eyesore despite there being no one nearby. What's he thinking, searching for a cell phone on a sidewalk? It's gone, finished. He blinks twice, attempting to will away any devastating heartbreak. His mind begins to rake through how much money he has in savings and just how much he is willing to give. However, all the while, he feels like crying at the idea of losing his only public crutch. Shinji has never been sure how a person can sit on the bus without relying on their phone.

He groans inwardly, and his stomach churns out of hunger. Staring ahead at the orange and purple sky, he sighs. He's there awhile, doing nothing but staring. It's something that's completely unproductive, and of course that means he does it rather often.

Then, the streetlights blink to life and begin their nocturnal shift. They startle him, and his eyes flutter when he glances straight into the ray of one. It looks strange, he thinks, washed out yellow light with the backdrop of an orange sky. It's almost like a second sun, he muses, and then he laughs at his own logic, spinning on his heel to trek back home. His hands find his pockets, and aimlessly he stares ahead at the seemingly infinite row of streetlights.

Bored in his thoughts, Shinji thinks that they look a bit like stretched out lampposts.

It takes a second before Shinji stops walking. Then, he snickers.

O

“Nuh-uh.”

Shinji cracks a wry smile in an attempt to appear amiable, but he's certain that he feels his eyelid twitch.

“No, I remember that I left it here, on that side table over there.” he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, indicating to the magazine-laden table.

“Hmm.” hums the receptionist with the fiery hair. Shinji is a little surprised that she works two days in a row, as she seems to do so around the clock, but at the same time is slightly disappointed that she's no longer wearing fluorescent pink scrubs. Instead, she's wearing mint green. She has a finger over her lips, as if expressing thought, and Shinji has a feeling that he is being mocked. “Nope, no phones. Trust me, I would have remembered.” she supplies, simpering. She looks rather cute with her bright blue eyes, but one can tell that she's an incredibly conniving character.

Shinji's smile falters. He begins to feel self-conscious, wondering if he had been wrong. Then again, he thinks, it's not unlikely that someone had stolen it even from a medical waiting room, despite how incredibly evil such an act is.

“Are you sure?” he inquires weakly, and the receptionist clicks her tongue.

“Sorry, but yeah.”

Shinji frowns and looks at his shoes. He fiddles with his hands, and sighs. Once again, he reasons to himself about just how much money he is willing to give up for another phone. Lost in thought and still looking at the floor, he turns around.

It's when he's about a foot away from the stairs that he thinks he hears something. It's reminiscent of when he's home alone and he hears the building creak, so although he stops for a small three seconds, he continues forward without a second thought.

Slowly, the phantom sound grows louder until it's impossible to ignore. Shinji stands upright, listening sharply. He can definitely hear something, an exciting tune from a small distance, high-pitched, rhythmic, and incredibly familiar.

“Do you hear that?” he inquires, turning his head to the side to regard the receptionist. She shakes her head and flips the page of her magazine, hardly acknowledging his question. He cranes his head to listen, unknowingly wandering toward the noise. It's then that he feels the eyes of the receptionist on him, but as he follows the tune he doesn't seem to care.

It's not long before he is in front of a sandy wooden door. Unsure whether or not he's allowed to enter the room, he places his ear against the door's surface. Indeed, from within the room, he can hear what is undeniably the very ringtone programmed into his phone.

“What are you doing?” pipes the girl. Shinji's head whips around, and he winces at her judging, quirked eyebrow.

“Er... listening. I can hear it, my ringtone.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Then go in there.”

He pauses. “Am I allowed to?”

Amused, she grins. “Yeah, that's just the sun room.”

As means of thanks, Shinji nods, and meekly opens the door. His eyes meet a room that is eerily similar to the last one, the only exception being its lack of stairs and a desk. At first he thinks he's alone, but then he turns a corner and sighs, frowning and sleepily lowering his eyelids. What a pain.

Kaworu is lying on the sole couch in a room full of chairs, curled into a comfortable position with his sleeping face toward the door. His lips are parted to make way for his rhythmic breaths, and if Shinji didn't know any better, he'd think that they were in sync with the tune of his ringtone. Yes, his ringtone, coming from his lost cell phone, which is currently covered by Kaworu's limp hands.

Sighing through his nose, Shinji pads farther into the room, sporting a lopsided frown and a nervous stomach. He feels bad for himself, really. It seems that he's always the person to become involved in situations and misunderstandings that can only be described as awkward, that can only be solved by completing a task utterly against his will. That is to say, he's rather reluctant to approach a sleeping guy in a hospital waiting room, but of course he does so with mild indifference.

Shinji toys with the idea of gently sliding the phone out of Kaworu's hands and leaving, but knows that with his marvelous luck he would only succeed in waking and irritating him. It's odd, Shinji thinks as he kneels down to eye level with the other boy. It's odd that Kaworu is still here after three days, even though the only injury he had sustained was a bump to the head. Perhaps he's homeless, Shinji surmises, and with a wan smile he proceeds to prod Kaworu on the shoulder.

“Hey.” he whispers. It is also at this time that he begins to question why this odd person has his phone in the first place. Kaworu merely hums and stretches his arms. “Hey.” Shinji says louder this time, and with a twitch, Kaworu eases awake. It's alarming, just how deep of a red his eyes are in comparison to the rest of his color scheme.

“Huh?”

Shinji chews on his lip. At last, the tune coming from his phone stops. Kaworu blinks at him, and suddenly he wishes that he could travel back in time and just sneak away with the device rather than waking the other boy. Stuck in silence, Shinji wishes that he wasn't such an awkward person to talk to.

“Hello.” Kaworu mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his wrist and sitting up on his knees. He yawns, covering his gaping mouth with his right hand. Shinji eyes the phone that is still clutched in his pale other hand.

“What are you still doing here?” Shinji decides to ask first, standing at his full height. Mid-yawn, Kaworu blinks up at him.

“There's nowhere else for me to be.” he says, scratching his head. “Why?”

Shinji disregards his question. “What do you mean there's nowhere for you to be?”

Kaworu stares at him with half-lidded eyes. It's then that Shinji realizes he looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep in a while. Despite this, the tired boy lets out a meek smile.

“I'm not entirely sure myself.” he replies, laughing under his breath. “I've only woken up for the first time, after all.”

Shinji blinks. “What?”

Kaworu does not reply. Instead, he looks down at the cell phone in his left hand. Shinji follows his line of sight.

“Oh, yeah. I left that here. It's my phone. Why do you have it?” he asks, feeling a tad sheepish.

For a moment, Kaworu looks a little embarrassed. “I liked your ringtone.”

Shinji quirks an eyebrow. Nervous, he moves his hands around in his pockets. He wants to tell Kaworu that it was pretty indecent of him to just take it from the table, but he decides against it when he once again sees how tired he is. It reminds Shinji of himself a little bit, and that makes him let out a small smile. He rolls his shoulders, waiting for Kaworu to hand the phone back, but is a little befuddled at just how long it is taking for him to do so.

Unblinking, Kaworu continues to stare up at him.

“You have a cute face.” he states, matter-of-fact.

As if by reflex, Shinji's hands fly from his pockets to his forehead. It's a little childish of him to cover his face, but still, he can't help himself. Already he can feel the tickling of his flushed cheeks.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he cries, rubbing at his cheeks to cool them down. “It's embarrassing! I don't even know you!”

Like a bemused dog, Kaworu's head tilts to the side. He's still smiling. Shinji wonders if he ever stops smiling.

“Really...” he sighs. “It's really strange.”

“Sorry.” Kaworu says, and Shinji can tell it's genuine, because his smile shrinks into a guilty one.

Shinji just shakes his head. He holds out his hand, expecting it to be met with a phone, but is befuddled to only be met with silence.

Kaworu is looking down at the phone again. “I really did like your ringtone. It put me to sleep. What was it called, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Was someone calling me?”

“No, I just turned it on.”

Shinji frowns. “ I don't know, it just came with the phone. It was the only one that sounded decent. Can I have it back now?”

“Oh, yes.” Kaworu says, shaking his head as if shrugging off a stupor. He places the phone in Shinji's upturned hand and stands, stretching his arms. “I'm sorry, I was distracted.”

Shinji rubs his thumb over the smudged screen of his phone. He gives his reflection within it a lopsided look, before turning back to the situation at hand.

“It's okay, I guess. And, uh, thanks for looking after it.” At least, Shinji thinks that's what he was doing. For all he knows Kaworu was planning on stealing it.

Kaworu smiles so brightly that his eyes shut, and he shrugs. Shinji turns, making way to leave once again. Hopefully this time the staircase won't be occupied.

“It was nice to meet you.” Kaworu says behind him.

Shinji stops. He pockets his phone.

“We already met.” he says.

“Hm?”

“We already met. The day before yesterday.”

Shinji turns around, staring Kaworu in the eye, who blinks owlishly.

“Did we?” he questions with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wonder...”

“We did. You were looking for your ID card on the sidewalk.” Shinji takes a small step toward Kaworu, admitting that his interest is piqued. “I found it and brought it to you, but I dropped it. You reached for it and you hit your head on a pole.”

Kaworu gives him a blank look for approximately six seconds, before a sudden light comes to his eyes.

“Oh, right!” his smile brightens, and he claps his hands together. “I never did thank you for that. You really helped me out there. In fact, it's because of you that I'll be able to pay this month's rent... I think.”

Kaworu pauses. Shinji folds his arms.

“I think...” he says again. “But has it really been three days?”

“Yeah.”

“But... that was just before I had fallen asleep.”

Shinji's eyebrows draw downward in concern. “Um, no.” he murmurs. He's not entirely sure how to talk to someone so confused, so he decides to only speak if indicated to do so.

Kaworu's smile fades. His eyes move around the room, before falling upon a point slightly to the left. He's looking for something to focus on that does not require an extraordinary amount of thought.

“Perhaps I just need to wake up a little more.” mumbles Kaworu, before regaining his usual smile.

“Ah, but, I never got your name.”

“Ikari.” Shinji blurts. He feels a little sick.

“Alright, Ikari.” Kaworu says, a smile clear in his voice. He bounces a little on his feet, linking his hands behind his back. “Thank you for what you did. I had been looking for that card for far too long. You see, the place I was supposed to go absolutely refused to let me in without some form of ID. It was irritating, really. They said I looked too young to be who I was.”

Shinji stays quiet.

“As it turns out, I had brought ID, but I could not for the life of me find it in my pocket, and I was horrified to realize that I had dropped it along the way. I had twenty minutes until I was set to perform, but...” he pursed his lips. “I ended up here somehow.”

It's then that Shinji is completely positive that something is not right. Still, he refrains from saying anything about the matter.

“What do you mean perform?” he asks, avoiding the elephant in the room.

Kaworu's smile softens, and his face turns a little pink. “I sometimes play the piano.” he supplies.

“Oh.” Shinji says, incredibly articulate. For some reason, when he looks at Kaworu, he does not find that fact surprising.

“Yes, and it just so happens that I was to be paid quite a lot for that performance... but I seem to have missed it, haven't I?”

“Seems that way.”

Kaworu shrugs. “Oh well. I'll find something else. But, I really did like your ringtone.” he says. “It sort of reminded me of something.”

“Like what?”

“I can't be sure.”

Shinji gives him an odd look. It matches well, an odd look to give an odd person.

“Kaworu.”

At hearing his name, Kaworu beams. Shinji swears he's like a portable sun.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Like a mirror, Kaworu proceeds to give Shinji an odd look. However, it does not match quite as well, as Shinji has considered himself to be a relatively bland person thus far. It's not often that he receives estranged stares.

“Yes. Why?”

Shinji narrows his eyes. It's easy to see that he's not convinced.

“... Never mind.” he mumbles, slowly turning on his heel. “Well, thanks again, for looking after my phone.”

“Oh, well, it was no problem, I suppose? But, I need to thank you again, for the card, that is.”

Laughing under his breath, Shinji walks toward the door.

“You're welcome, I guess.”

Although now he knows his story, Shinji is still amused at how big of a fuss Kaworu is making over the card. After all, all Shinji had done was drop it on the ground, and, evidently, given the other boy a fairly serious head injury.

O

The receptionist with the mischievous blue eyes had later informed Shinji that Kaworu is suffering from temporary amnesia. It's normal, she had said, to have it for a while after a head injury. She had assured him that everything would be fine and that life would just be confusing to the poor boy for a while.

Even so, as Shinji walks home alone in the dark, he can't help but feel a small measure of pity for the bright-haired boy. Not only that, but considering that amnesia is a topic the average person has a suitable knowledge of, he thinks it odd that Kaworu is able to remember everything that happened until the point at which he hit his head. Isn't it usually the other way around?

Deciding to do some research later, he sniffs, and taps his phone in his pocket. It feels nice to have his crutch again. In fact, it feels so nice, that he allows himself the tiniest fraction of a smile.

He's about five minutes away from home when he passes the usual music store. It's a lonely place, packed within a strip of vacant buildings and bicycle racks, but Shinji thinks that this has always made it look quaint and friendly.

Normally, he would walk past it without a second thought. However, it is on this particular night that he spots something reasonably interesting in its display window.

A portable keyboard piano. It's old, he can tell. Its keys are smudged with fingerprints and its surface is riddled with tiny scratches, but all the same, it looks quite nice. Not only that, but if he's reading the price tag correctly, then he knows that it is remarkably inexpensive.

Shuffling his phone around in his pocket, Shinji sighs, then he bites his lip. He had already been planning to spend a large sum of money on a new phone... and, well, Kaworu must be plenty bored and helpless, being stuck in a hospital with nothing but magazines to pass the time.

With a grimace that says he knows he'll regret what he's about to do, he steps into the store, hearing the bell on the door break the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … I fell into a warm dream.
> 
> You don't even want to know how many times I typed Karl instead of Kaworu completely out of habit. Thank you for reading, I can hardly express how much I appreciate your kindness. :)


	3. Water is Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tie it- the appearance that I embraced...

It occurs to Shinji far too late that carrying a piano, even a portable one, through a crowded street is a horrid, horrid mistake. He walks along as timidly as he can, taking minimal steps that can probably be measured in millimeters, breathing evenly in an effort to soothe his nerves. Of course, this does next to nothing, and soon he is mortified to find that his shoe is untied, and that he is holding up quite a plethora of people behind him. With a desperate, inward, sigh-like sound, he attempts to gently back into the window on his right. It doesn't work, though, for he ends up tripping over his own shoelaces and crushing his nose into said window.

He stays there for a bit, with his face plastered into a sheet of glass. Then, he slowly peels himself away, already grimacing. Of course, there is a foggy imprint of his breath on the window. Still with enough mirth left to do so, Shinji allows himself a small chuckle, finally crouching down to tie his tricky laces. He holds the piano in the concave of his collarbone, supporting it with his shoulder, quite sure that he looks ridiculous.

It's when he stands up and smacks a small child in the face with the piano that he truly experiences the urge to throw himself into the sun.

“Ouch!” cries the kid, immediately putting both hands to his nose. Shinji is gaping and thinking of the many ways in which he can disappear.

_'Oh my god I just hit a kid in the face oh my god oh my god--'_

“I'm so sorry!” he says, and to make matters worse his voice cracks at the latter point of the word 'so'. His hands dig into the piano, and it is at this time that he inhales his last calm breath of the hour. The small boy is glaring up at him in absolute malice, and in his head, Shinji blandly thinks to himself that children are evil, evil creatures. Never mind the fact that he himself had just hit one in the face.

“What do you have to say for yourself?!”

 _Ah_ , there it is. The sweet sound of impending doom.

With agonizing slowness, Shinji looks up only to find the furious face of, presumably, the kid's mother.

“Sorry?” he squeaks.

“Sorry my ass! You could have broken his nose!”

“Could'a broke my nose!” the small boy repeats. His mother nods fervently.

Shinji just purses his lips and stares at the lady with petrified eyes. He's about ready to smash the piano into the concrete.

The woman huffs like a bull ready to charge. People mill around them, frustrated at their stop in the road, but also sensing the danger and avoiding the vicinity at all costs. A strange, toxic growl comes from the lady, and her son proceeds to hide behind her legs.

Abruptly, Shinji turns on his heel, repeatedly spewing apologies. Sorry seems to be the only thing that can come out of his mouth, and with tiny tears in the corners of his eyes he thinks that he is never going to show his face in public again. Never. He's running, now, he's not sure where to, all he knows is that he's still slapping people in the side with a piano and saying sorry like a broken record.

Before he has the chance to return to reality, he notices that he had stopped for breath right in front of his original destination. His hands go slack and the piano droops closer to the ground the slightest bit, and he glares pointlessly at the medical clinic's banner. He sniffs.

O

“I hate this thing.”

Kaworu doesn't even hear him. He's too busy making strange, ecstatic sounds, ranging from squeals, screeches, and all the way to a feverish _'hhhhhh'_ , sounding as if he is unable to breathe. He practically drapes himself over the piano, a cute smile plastered onto his face, and Shinji isn't sure whether he wants to groan and leave, or chuckle a little. In the end, he just stands with his hands at his sides.

“Is this for me?”

One of Shinji's eyebrows lifts. “Yes.”

“Why?” Kaworu cries, his face filled with unabashed glee. He hugs the heavy instrument to his chest and Shinji is unsure of how on Earth he manages to do so without breaking something.

Still... that's a good question. Why had he bought Kaworu a piano? A flurry of scenarios flow through Shinji's head.

 _'I thought specifically of you when I saw this so I had to get it for you!'_ No, too creepy.

 _'You look bored.'_ That one isn't even true.

 _'It was really cheap.'_ How about no.

In the end, Shinji just mutters out a stale, “I felt like it.”

He really wants to leave, now that the deed is done. However, something keeps him rooted to the spot. Shinji surmises that that something is probably social etiquette, as he knows that simply delivering a gift and leaving would not only be awkward but also rude. So, he stands there, unsure of what to do or what to say.

Kaworu is still ecstatic for a short while; however, this emotion soon morphs into an innocent bemusement.

“I see.” he says, lowering the piano onto his lap. He still has his hands on it, though, and it's a little funny how he doesn't want to let the thing go. “But, why me, specifically?”

Shinji doesn't answer. There's a still silence.

“And, um, who are you?” Kaworu inquires.

A quiet sigh. Shinji shifts his eyes from Kaworu to the white tiled floor, licking his lips. He really wishes that the room could be more colorful, perhaps a lavender curtain, or even a potted plant...  _A potted plant_...

“Ikari.”

“Ah.” Kaworu nods, sagely, as if that answers his every question. Clearly, though, it doesn't, for he still wears a hesitant smile and an awkward posture. “Well...” he starts. Then, the words seem to fall from his mind, as if he had made a decision not to say them after all. Half of his smile disappears, he's biting his lip a tad.

Shinji sighs at Kaworu's turmoil. Maybe he should leave after all.

“Do you like music, Ikari?”

“Huh?”

Kaworu tilts his head to the left. “Is music something that you enjoy?”

“Oh.” Shinji takes a moment to think. He then realizes that he's not even thinking, he's just stalling for reasons he doesn't know. “Yeah, I guess. Who doesn't?” he forces out.

Kaworu runs the tip of his finger across the piano's keys. “You would be surprised.”

Deciding to ignore that last bit, Shinji shrugs. “I do, but not a lot like you do. It's nice once in a while, or when I'm trying to sleep.”

There's silence again. Shinji hates it, so he decides to speak up.

“Why do you ask?”

Kaworu chuckles, and it's a feathery little sound. “I'm trying to figure out why you would buy this for me. Oh, but, that's not to say I'm not grateful... now I won't have to leave home to play. What I'm wondering is, have we met before?”

Shinji hesitates, unsure of how to respond. “I found your ID, and then you hit your head.” he says, taking a seat on one of the plush chairs in the room. His hands fiddle with each other nervously.

Kaworu's eyes follow the other boy. He loses his smile, perhaps in thought, and his eyebrows draw downward for a moment. Then, he lights up again.

“Oh! Yes, you with the cute face. Thank you.”

Shinji twitches. He's looking at the floor again. He thinks he wants to leave, but... he cracks a smile. It's awkward and it doesn't quite fit on his face, but it grows, and his shoulders are shaking, and then he's giggling into his hand and he can't control it. Of course, he isn't quite rolling on the ground laughing, but it's long-winded, and to put it simply, Shinji is simply amused at this particular chain of events.

Kaworu still wears a small smile, and he blinks twice.

“Was something funny?”

“Yeah, you.” he says through his laughter.

“Me?”

Shinji takes a moment to contain his chortles before clarifying. “You say that every time I come over here, without fail. It's just funny to me is all.”

“Every time...?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Ehhh... not really, but I don't know, I come here enough.”

Kaworu's face can only be described as owlish. “Why do you visit the hospital so often? Are you ill?”

“No, I visit you.”

“You... visit me?”

“Yeah.”

Kaworu stares at his sheets, horribly confused. Shinji pities him.

“... Am I here often?”

“Only recently. Since you hit your head.” he supplies. He rests his chin on his hand, supported by the arm of the chair. With interest, he watches Kaworu process everything, wondering just how he's going to resolve his amnesic jumble.

“But that was...” Kaworu murmurs. He's running his hands along the piano. “That was only very recently. Today, even.”

Shinji begins to shake his head, but stops himself. He looks up at Kaworu, who doesn't look quite right without a smile. It occurs to him then that even if Shinji were to explain the situation, it would only befuddle the boy further, perhaps even upset him. Out of what he tells himself is pity, Shinji does not want that. He lets out an audible breath, and Kaworu's attention turns from nothing to him.

“Ikari--”

“You really love playing the piano, huh?”

Kaworu blinks, taken aback. His eyes are shaking the slightest bit, he swallows, and he looks down to the ebony and ivory in his lap. Once again, the anatomically correct smile finds his face.

“I really do.”

Shinji stands. His shoulders are stiff, but he wears a good-intentioned smile. Finding the cord of the piano on the ground, he sets about plugging it in.

“Let's hear it, then.”

O

“You can't do that, stupid!” cries the girl in fluorescent scrubs. Today, she's wearing a gentle lavender, and Shinji thinks it clashes a bit with her bouncy, ginger hair.

Blinking widely, Shinji clicks the door shut behind him. He suddenly feels very guilty, over what, he isn't sure.

The girl continues to fume. “Do you know how loud that was? The hell made you think that was okay? You could have woken someone or given me a headache or--” she pauses. “Or... I don't know, but it's just a bad idea, alright?”

Obediently, Shinji nods. His hands are mingling with each other.

“Sorry.”

Her eyebrows draw downwards, and her face turns red. Shinji still has no idea what he's guilty of.

“She's mad because I tickled her.” hisses a voice from below. With a jump, Shinji's gaze darts downward only to find the stairs-mopping custodian hiding under an end table... or rather, cleaning under it, if her tiny duster has anything to say about it. She giggles, and her eyes twinkle.

“Mari!” screeches the colorful one.

“Hehehee...”

Appearing almost demonic, 'Mari' crawls strangely out from underneath the table. How had she even fit under there? As she stands, she stretches her back, before leaning on Shinji's shoulder.

“The music put her to sleep, so I caught her when I could!”

Uncomfortable, Shinji leans away from the odd lady. It seems, he thinks, that everyone in this building is rather odd... he's not sure whether this includes himself or not.

There is a tense silence.

“Ten.” the scrub-wearer growls.

Shinji purses his lips and Mari's head darts upward.

“Nine.”

“Asuka!” whines Mari. Asuka, as the colorful receptionist has now been dubbed, begins to crack her knuckles.

“Eight.”

“Come on, this is a place of peace! Healing! Don't kill me, or you'll just have to take care of me!”

“Seven.”

"Then again, would that be so bad...?"

Shinji begins to back away slowly.

“Six.”

“I'll cover your shift. I'll never tickle you again!”

“Five.”

Shinji is near the stairs now. Gingerly, quietly, he turns, padding down the familiar staircase. Despite this, he can still hear the strange girls' banter.

“Four.” Asuka's voice is slowly lowering and becoming frightening.

Shinji continues on his way, listening to the now terrified, sprinting footfalls of Mari as she flees demise.

“Three, two, one!” rushes Asuka. She, too, begins to sprint, and it's only when Shinji is outside the building that he hears the unpleasant shrieks of a captured Mari.

O

Now, Shinji feels like it is his responsibility to visit Kaworu at least once every few days. It's astonishing, really, just how easily he succumbs to the idea. As he throws on a jacket for what seems like the thousandth time this season, he blames it on the fact that he is the very reason that Kaworu was hurt in the first place. Well, not really, but... somewhat. Anyway.

Brushing down the rebellious part of his fringe, he checks that same orange-stained mirror he had the days previous. That delinquent piece of hair continues to act up, and so, he licks his finger a bit and tries to pin it down. No luck finds him, however, and he's stuck simply huffing and glaring at the happy, dark strand atop his head.

It's not as though he dislikes visiting the weird, pale guy. If anything, doing so is substantially entertaining, between the forgetful dork and the quirky employees of the medical facility. It's something to do.

Yet, at the same time, Shinji feels that if something so listless can be described as 'something to do', then he has no idea which way his life is heading. He's always motivated by the extrinsic, always waiting for the world to push and make his decisions for him.

So, to say the least, this is odd. This is completely independent, this is clearly by Shinji's will and nobody else's. With a simper, he thinks that this has never happened before, not that he remembers, anyway. Then, he realizes, with that same simper still lining his face, that he does, in fact, look rather cute when he smiles.

He chuckles a little, feels himself shudder, and wipes away at the pink on his cheeks with excess sleeve, diving out the door.

O

“A piano!”

“Uh-huh.” Shinji mumbles. He is both amused and perplexed.

“For me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow!”

  
“I got that for you a few days back, Kaworu.”

Kaworu gives him an odd look, then proceeds to press his index finger into one of the higher notes. The sound that rings out is obnoxious without anything accompanying it. He giggles, folding his hands into his lap.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, again.”

There's a bout of silence. This time, Shinji realizes, it's not his fault.

“How do you know my name?” Kaworu inquires, wearing a smile once again. He does not appear wary, only curious. It's funny, how patient he looks, with his hands folded into his lap and all. You'd think he'd be at a business meeting.

“Because you've told it to me.” Shinji says, matter-of-fact. “And I'm Ikari.”

Kaworu's eyes widen. His mouth parts, and his shoulders hunch, as if in realization. Shinji feels fluttering in his tummy, a clear symptom of hope.

“Ikari!”

“Yeah!” Shinji nods feverishly, eager to get Kaworu embedded into the healing process.

“That's a nice name.”

Shinji deflates.

Kaworu, although apprehensive, soon smiles. “How did you know I played piano, Ikari?”

Shinji, too, offers a hesitant smile. He sits in the same chair he has been lately, realizing that his hands are oddly cold. Maybe he's nervous.

“You told me. When you dropped your ID to go where you were going to play. I picked it up for you, then it blew away (read: I dropped it.) and you hit your head.”

Then again, he thinks, he's talking a lot easier than he usually does. Perhaps it has something to do with telling the same story time and time again.

“Oh, yes, I do recall that. But that was today.”

“No, it wasn't. You've been here a while.”

  
“But...”

Shinji pities him.

“Are you going to play it?”

“Hm?”

“The piano. It's nice.”

“Oh.”

Kaworu's eyes scan the keys. He jabs at another one, this time closer to the middle. It has a bland tone.

“It doesn't feel right to at this moment.” he says. His voice is simmered, and Shinji thinks that it's uncharacteristic of him, that it's saddening.

So used to Kaworu smiling, Shinji is uncomfortable to see him frown.

“Why? What's wrong?” he asks, almost blurting it. Now he feels awkward again, out of place. This is a conversation he has never had before, something he has never rehearsed. Never in his life has Shinji tried to be a comfort.

At his outlandish tone, Kaworu's head bolts up to look at Shinji. He blinks his strange red eyes.

“Nothing is wrong, necessarily. I just feel strange. I'm lacking in motivation, I suppose. I feel... oddly pointless right now.”

Shinji reasons that it's probably because the poor boy has been locked in a bright white room for days on end. That, he thinks, would erode anyone, even someone as bright as Kaworu.

“Do they ever let you outside-- uh.” Shinji realizes too late that even if they did, Kaworu wouldn't remember it. It seems that his particular case is quite nasty, as rather than forgetting anything in his life prior to his little bump, he lacks severely the ability to process new memories.

It's as if he's reliving the same thing, again and again, without even knowing it.

“I-I'll be right back.” Shinji stammers, standing and jerking a thumb over his shoulder and toward the door.

Curiously and silently, Kaworu watches him leave the room.

When the door clicks shut, he prods at another piano key, this time a low one. It's nearly silent.

O

“Look.” Kaworu says. Shinji pauses mid-yawn to see, opening one eye.

“Hhhwa?”

“I made you.”

In between Kaworu's skinny fingers, there is an oblong... thing... made out of what appears to be blades of grass tied haphazardly together. Shinji quirks an eyebrow.

“What's your name again?” Kaworu asks.

“Ikari.”

“It's you, Ikari. See, there are arms.” he points to one blade, tied to the longest strand by the middle. “And these are the legs-- er... leg.” then, he gestures to a scraggly looking knot on top of his creation. “And this is your head. It even has your cowlick! It's cute just like you!”

Shinji twitches. He gets over the usual shock easily, though, and quirks an eyebrow. Kaworu Nagisa is truly one of the weirdest people he has ever met.

“... I don't even know how to respond to that.” he mutters, picking grass himself and merely discarding it.

It turns out that yes, they did, indeed, let bored, able patients go outside into the courtyard. Currently they are both sitting in a patch of damp grass, doing so simply because they can. Already, Shinji can tell that Kaworu has regained much of his usual vivacity. It seems that, even though he had been unaware of it, being in solitude for so long had gotten to Kaworu eventually. Shinji contemplates asking if anyone besides him ever visits, before remembering that Kaworu would have no idea.

“Do you like to do anything but play piano?” he decides on instead, just to make artificial conversation. Again, he thinks that this is the first time he's ever had the urge to do so.

Kaworu grins at him, impish. “I like people.”

“What do you mean?”

“It may sound odd, but I like to learn about people, the little things... for example, what's your favorite color?”

Shinji has no idea. He's never really had a favorite.

“... Blue.” he says, not really meaning it.

“Blue.” Kaworu mimics. “Blue. Why blue?”

“Because I guess it looks nice. It's calm. I like it when things are calm.”

“Is this calm?” Kaworu asks.

“What do you mean?”

“This building and atmosphere. Is it calm to you?”

“It's weird, but it's not scary.”

“What is scary?”

“Scary things are scary.”

“Water is wet.”

“Thanks.”

Kaworu beams, sunny. Shinji shakes his head.

“So you mean you like asking weird questions?”

“When you say it like that...” Kaworu falters, his smile fading. “It makes me sound creepy.”

Shinji is not going to deny that. However, he _is_ going to deny that creepy is all that Kaworu is entirely. It's obvious that he's abnormally innocent, and creative, and, well, a whole lot of abstract concepts wrapped into one pallid lanky package. At Shinji's lack of denial, Kaworu grimaces.

“What do you like to do to pass the time?” is the next question Shinji is faced with. He's not sure if this is part of Kaworu's same bizarre survey, or a new topic entirely.

He thinks hard. Then, he shrugs.

“Whatever comes to mind, I guess.”

“Such as?”

“I listen to a lot of music, but that's not very productive.”

Kaworu's happiness level seems to skyrocket.

“Music? Do you like piano?”

“It's nice.”

“I play the piano.”

“Do you really?” Shinji deadpans, morbidly amused.

“I do! Perhaps I can show you sometime.”

Licking his dry lips, Shinji laughs under his breath.

“Sure, I guess.” he says.

It's almost disturbing how much he enjoys being more aware than another person for once in his life. The sun is beginning to set.

“Do you play anything?” Kaworu questions eagerly.

“A little cello.”

“Mmh.” Kaworu nods. “I will never understand how you all carry those gargantuan instruments around. You must have great strength.”

“You ever try moving a piano through a crowd?”

“... No.”

“Good. Because you'll hit a kid in the face.”

O

The next time Shinji thinks of visiting his gangly friend, it's on a Sunday, early in the morning. He's groggy, but he's conscious, and that's all that really matters when it comes to Shinji Ikari. Birds are chirping outside, and as he sips a mug of coffee with the most unamused expression known to man, he rests his head on the sole, cool window of his minuscule room. It's doubtful that the hospital is even open. Despite this, he finishes his coffee, hardly noticing its bitter flavor or its scalding temperature.

Next, the usual jacket is over his head, and he is checking his face in the orange mirror.

Cute. Tired, but cute. He wants to punch himself in the face.

O

“These are nice.” Shinji mumbles to no one in particular. Only one person is in the room with him, sitting behind the decrepit register with a piping hot cup of coffee and a great morning demeanor.

The buzz of the fridge and the fluff of the stuffed animals are rather comforting, Shinji has to admit. Perhaps he should consider working in a hospital gift shop, for the sake of being cozy.

He's poking at the spotted petal of a moderately sized bouquet of flowers. They're all of the same variety, orange, with little brown spots and a sickly white center. Lilies or something, he thinks. He doesn't really know much about flowers, just that they look nice and smell nice and are a nice gesture.

“How much are these ones?” he calls to the lady behind the counter. She turns, the dark circles under her eyes shining in the bright light of the early morning. Her hair is a dark violet.

“2500 yen.” she says. Her voice is surprisingly kind. She takes a sip of her coffee, shifting her attention back to wherever she had been staring before. Somewhere into the void, probably.

“2500?”

“2500.”

Shinji thinks that that is a lot of money to spend on some cutesy plants that he could go outside and pick. However...

With a sigh, he digs for his poor wallet.

O

“Why am I spending so much money on--” Shinji starts, walking into Kaworu's room for what feels like the hundredth time, even though it has in fact been less than twenty times. He pauses, though, finishing weakly.

“--you.”

Kaworu is fast asleep, his face planted into a fluffy white pillow. He snores lightly, so lightly it's almost inaudible, but Shinji hears it, and he thinks he is going to tease the entertaining boy about it later. For now, though, he simply sets the flowers on the side table, and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … the color of orange softly scatters.
> 
> O
> 
> AN: To clarify any confusion, Kaworu has a case of anterograde amnesia, which is the opposite of the type you would normally hear about (retrograde). It is when, rather than forgetting your past, you lose your ability to create new memories. I learned in my psych that there is a man who suffers this permanently, and every day, when his wife comes to visit him, he is so overjoyed to see her, and he expresses that she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. He also remarks, at every interval, that this is the first time he has ever been awake. I thought it was interesting. Plot bunnies!


	4. Geometry, Bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday, the passing memory will be born in a scattering moment...

“These ones are daisies.” Kaworu states, proud. Shinji keeps the same wry, exasperated smile that's been splitting face for the past half hour. He adjusts in the waiting chair.

“Well, I knew that one from the beginning.”

“Mm-hm.” hums the pale boy, bustling around the room. It's obvious that he doesn't even register what Shinji says, as he's far too busy squealing over the current state of his once-white room.

Flowers, from monstrous to minuscule but always orange, cover every surface imaginable. A valley of shades highlight the vicinity, rich in nature, shining and in the white giving off the aura of a docile sunset. It's always refreshing to enter this room, now. What isn't so refreshing, though, is the gaping, empty pit that is Shinji's wallet. He doesn't know how he's going to afford food for the next month.  _Say hello to noodles in a cup._

Of course, if he were to be asked about it, Shinji would say that he merely pities the poor guy and that his reactions were always so exciting. It seems that when one is constantly waking up for the first time in their life, they will be endlessly fascinating by anything and everything.

What makes Shinji a little bit sad, though, is that Kaworu never remembers who the one bringing the flowers is. He does, however, know the name of every breed of flora.

“And these are carnations.” he chirps, poking the soft blooms.

“They're fluffy, huh.”

“I was just about to say that!”

Shinji smiles, a little lazy. He's relaxed, as through special circumstance he's become used to the situation. It's kind of weird, he thinks. He's used to repeating the same conversation again and again. Something as trivial as flowers should not be so entertaining to talk about.

“These are... um.” the sickly boy pauses, puzzled.

“Dahlias.”

“Dahlias, right.” Kaworu nods. His eyes are gleaming. “You seem to know a lot of things, er...”

“Ikari. And it's you who knew all this, anyway. I swear it's like you know everything.”

“Ikari. Right. I knew that.”

Shinji straightens.

“You did?”

Kaworu halts, his excitement abruptly waning. He gives the shorter boy an owlish look. Blinking, he gazes awkwardly, before lifting a finger to scratch at his nose. “... Who are you, Ikari?”

Shinji's head lolls backward of its own accord and he groans silently. He had thought he was getting somewhere. Kaworu purses his lips. Uncomfortable silence ensues.

“Hey, Kaworu?”

“Yes?”

Shinji narrows his murky blue eyes, peeking through his eyelashes at the sheepish, pitiful boy standing still like a board next to a sea of flowers.

“How are you feeling?” he decides to ask. He just wants to make conversation that won't annoy him. “Any headaches?”

“Mm. No, not really.” Kaworu murmurs. He seems to have calmed, and with a roll of his shoulders he lets himself be seated on the bed behind him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you hit your head pretty bad there.”

“... That would explain some things that I've been rather puzzled about.”

“I'm sure it would. You've been here a while.”

Truth be told, Shinji is getting worried. It's been about a month, now. It's not that he'd be particularly devastated if Kaworu never recovered, it's just that Asuka had said he would, and, well, he feels the sort of pity one often feels for the likes of a faraway car accident.

That's what he tells himself, anyway. No way would he ever become friends with someone through such weird means, those kinds of things just don't happen.

“I'm not so sure.” Kaworu says, hushed. “It feels like I just got here.”

Shinji grimaces. He wishes that the poor guy would get better already so he could stop spending so much money on flowers, never mind the fact that he himself is the one willingly buying them. Thinking for a moment, he clicks his tongue.

“Kaworu, what's that?” he asks, pointing a meek finger at the instrument that now rests in the corner of the room.

Following the other boy's line of sight, Kaworu takes a moment to register the object.

“That's a... piano?” he says, instantly standing and ambling toward the thing. Shinji suppresses a fluttery smile.

“Yeah. I bought it for you a while back.”

Kaworu picks up the clunky instrument and sets it gingerly on the bed. “You bought me a piano?”

“Yep.”

“... Oh. Thank you. That's very kind of you, Ikari.”

“Don't mention it. Are you going to play?” Shinji likes it when Kaworu plays the piano. It tends to lull him into a sense of security. Then again, most piano pieces tend to do that. It definitely is not Kaworu's playing in particular. Of course not.

“Is there... is there some reason that I should know who you are? Why you're visiting?” Kaworu inquires. His expression is troubled, and he's holding his arm with one hand. He's lost, it seems. It's so pitiful it hurts. Kaworu was probably a level-headed person before all of this.

“If you get better I think there would be. But then, we'd just go our separate ways and you'd forget about me.”

Kaworu blinks twice. He looks like a deer in the headlights. Shinji, now bitter from his own sour words, shakes his head and sighs. He really needs to stop being such a wet paper towel.

“Never mind, Kaworu. Are you going to play something?”

“I'll... I'll play.” he replies, shaking off any negative emotions he had been harboring from such a confusing conversation. Shinji smiles a bit. He watches the red-eyed boy settle back onto his bed, placing the piano delicately on his lap. There's a small second of silence.

“Oh... you were the one who picked up my ID, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Kaworu looks up at Shinji and smiles such a bright smile that the brunet boy has to do a double-take.

“What?”

“Thank you very much.”

And then he begins to play. There are endless ways in which one might describe the dynamic crescendo of a piano's song, the soothing, rhythmic sound that may as well be the pallid boy's heartbeat. Kaworu smiles when he plays and his eyes look like that of a kid on his birthday, but it's obvious that he takes the art seriously, for despite the rather pathetic position of sitting awkwardly on a rumpled hospital bed, he immerses himself completely in the ebony and ivory set before his gaze.

Shinji sits politely by with his hands now in his lap. He's smiling gently and looking at the floor, doing nothing but listening and thinking. The tune is a mystery to him, but that's alright, because it's pretty anyhow. It's a nice atmosphere that he sort of wishes he could take home with him.

And it's after that thought that Shinji once again fails to notice the tell-tale fluttering of his eyelids, as well as the dulling of his senses. His hands, once furled tightly together, begin to unravel, falling loose at his knees as his head droops to the side.

It's so nice, he thinks. It's nice to not really worry about anything and just be near someone who doesn't know any more about anything than he does. It's nice to not be in the dark, for once. It's nice, once in a while, to come here and hear lectures about flowers or listen to music or just talk. It's nice, and Kaworu is kind.

It's all very nice.

Within seconds, Shinji is snoozing on his own shoulder. Within minutes, Kaworu finishes whatever lullaby he had concocted. Completely oblivious, he simpers at the instrument in his lap.

“Some of the keys are loose, but I think after just this I've grown attached to it after all.” he says quietly. The piano looks back up at him as if awaiting its next order.

“Ikari, should I-- ah...”

He should have noticed that the skittish boy's breathing had become deeper. Shinji's mouth is slightly agape and his head is adrift somewhere in between his collarbone and his shoulder. It's a comical sight, but of course someone as sweet and doting as Kaworu doesn't see it that way.

“Ahh, you're going to get a sore neck...” he pauses, thinking. His head kind of hurts now, he realizes. Perhaps he had gotten too involved in the piece. “... Again?”

O

Shinji wrinkles his nose, humming a bit. It's warm in his jacket and he can feel a little bit of sweat above his brow, probably because whatever chair he had settled in was directly below the heater or something.

There are two ways one can wake up from a nap. The first way is pleasant enough, when the body comes to life of its own will and the brain begins to whir to life in tandem. That's the way that's uninterrupted and sweet, how it should be. Then, there's the groggy, ear-ringing way that Shinji usually has. This time, though, it's totally not his fault.

“Hehe...”

Shinji shifts a little, his left eye twitching. He does not want to open his eyes yet. Yearning for five more minutes, he wonders who's giggling. There's a snort and a guffaw, followed by some shuffling. Suddenly, something touches him, and Shinji nearly jumps a foot off the chair. His eyes snap open and he almost makes a high-pitched sound that would not be very healthy to his minimal pride. He doesn't, though, because he has what he thinks is a blanket covering half his face now.

“Do you have a pet penguin or something?”

“H-huh?”

Kaworu smiles and his eyes turn into little crescents when he does. He's a tad too close for Shinji's liking. The hardly-awake boy is too busy gripping the blankets and being confused to really digest what's going on.

“You were talking a lot in your sleep. Something about penguins and beer and... you kept referring to the thing so familiarly. It was adorable. I couldn't help but laugh, I'm sorry.” confesses the pale boy. Shinji still doesn't really register anything except Kaworu's bright smile and the fact that he's leaning forward, and that his hair is excellently ruffle-able and when in the hell had he fallen asleep--

“Uh.”

“Hehe.”

“Kaworu, what are you doing...”

The standing boy blinks and a bit of his silver fringe falls over his eyes as he straightens once again. He rocks on his heels a bit, ceaselessly cheerful. “I was under the impression that it was a nice gesture to cover a sleeping person with a blanket. Was I wrong?”

“Er, no... but...”

“But?”

“I... don't know.” Shinji shuts his eyes again and rubs them with his wrist, sighing groggily and shrugging off the blanket. “I was actually kinda warm. Am I under a heater?”

Kaworu looks up. There's no heater, just a white tile ceiling with a long light that keeps flickering now that he thinks about it. “No.”

Shinji continues rubbing his face. He sighs.

“Are you alright? Your face is red.” Kaworu asks. His voice is a lot less gleeful, now.

“It's warm.”

“But you're shivering.”

Shinji frowns. He peers down at his hand, and it is, indeed, having a hard time keeping still. Licking his lips, he narrows his eyes. “I dunno, maybe I'm tired.”

He looks up again to see Kaworu with an utterly concerned expression decorating his face. The taller boy's head is tilted to the side and his mouth is drawn open the tiniest bit, as if he's unsure of what to say. “That's obvious.” he murmurs, before drawing his hand downward.

Shinji jumps and shuts one eye tight, leaving the other one open and wide to stare at Kaworu. He tries his best to look offended, but the other boy's hand is so cold on his forehead. It soothes the headache he doesn't realize he has.

“Ikari, you're burning up.” Kaworu frowns. Shinji thinks it's weird when Kaworu frowns.

“Just Shinji is fine.”

“That's your first name?”

Oh... right, he had never told Kaworu his full name. The room is spinning and everything seems to have moved about five inches to the left. When did that happen? “Yeah.”

“I like it, but, Ika-- Shinji, this is a hospital and you can probably get something for a fever--”

“I don't have a fever.”

Kaworu recoils, gingerly folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow.

“... What?” Shinji mutters. He hates being looked down upon so he stands up, but Kaworu is still a little taller than him so it's not very effective. It's doubly worse when he stumbles because he's so dizzy and has to grab at Kaworu's shirt. Oh, god, how mortifying. His eyes are like dinner plates and he can't stop shaking, never mind the fact that now his face is redder than it had been before, and, god, is it hot in here or what--

“I think I need to go home.” he says and his voice cracks.

“But, Shinji, this is literally a hospital--”

“Home!” he cries, delirious, already beelining to the door. His sweat feels cold and his throat feels dry. “Um, bye, Kaworu, uh.” he hurries, and slams the door behind him. Kaworu stares at the door for a minute.

“What a strange person.”

O

The next time Shinji visits the hospital, he's got the awful menthol of a cough drop infecting his senses and the headache of a thousand concerts gnawing at his skull. He visits anyway, though, one because he wants some fresh air and two because he hasn't seen Kaworu in about a week.

He sneezes into his arm and coughs immediately after, ascending the stairs into the familiar waiting room. Asuka is behind the counter, and Mari appears to be... cleaning the ceiling with a mop. Whatever.

They know him well enough to not ask where he's going, so casually he strolls up to Kaworu's door, yawning and feeling like your average lump of hell on Earth. If there is one thing that can defeat Shinji Ikari, it is the common cold. But that's not much a of a statement, because there are a lot of things that can defeat Shinji Ikari. That's okay, though. There are a lot of things that can defeat everyone. Shinji's weaknesses are just a lot more visible. Lost in thought, he moves his hand to the doorknob.

“Wait!”

Turning around much too fast for what is considered healthy in his condition, Shinji blinks at Asuka's horrified face. The red-haired girl's eyes are wide, and without a word, she shakes her head rapidly, signaling Shinji to hurry over to her. Confused, he obeys, sniffling loudly and approaching the help desk.

“What.” he deadpans.

“Good to see you, too.” chimes in Mari. Asuka rolls her eyes. The whole room smells like mop water. This is such a weird hospital.

“Someone else is in there with him right now.”

“... Hm.” Shinji hums articulately. He blinks sleepily, giving Asuka an unimpressed stare for about six seconds, before spinning around and taking the seat closest to the help desk. He sits there for quite a while, before something finally dawns upon him.

Kaworu knows other people. It's kind of pathetic to reach this epiphany now, but Shinji realizes abruptly that Kaworu is an actual person with an actual life and actual friends and talents and responsibilities and not just someone who exists purely for small talk. He wants to sigh, but doesn't want to feel breath slither through his clogged sinuses. And, it has been a week... maybe the pale boy had regained his ability to store new memories. Suddenly, Shinji feels a little empty, and that feeling pisses him off a tiny bit.

There's a crash.

Shinji jumps and looks at Asuka in question. The petite girl bites her lips.

“His family... they're all a bunch of total asshats.”

“Total... asshats.”

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

Asuka looks at Shinji like he has a second head.

“Nagisa's. You've been here this whole time and you didn't know it?”

“Know what?”

“C'mere.”

Shinji, hesitant, gets up and approaches Asuka's desk.

“They're seriously brutal.” she says, putting down her magazine. “And they look so weird.”

Curious, Shinji blinks and rubs his eyes. “Weird how?”

“Weird like... really weird. Last time one of them was here I could swear they were just this... black void of a person. Like you think I'm exaggerating but, just wait and see.”

Unable to understand what the receptionist is going on about, Shinji begins to lose interest and turns around.

“No wait, hang on.”

He pauses. There's a stretch of silence. Only the ticking of the clock and the scrubbing of mop to ceiling can be heard. Drip, tock, drip, tock...

And suddenly, a blood-curdling shriek rips through the entire floor. Shinji plugs his ears and feels his headache intensify, while Asuka wheels back in her chair and yelps. Mari just sort of falls on the ground and laughs.

It just keeps going, and it's so high-pitched that Shinji thinks it would break glass.

“Take cover!” Asuka cries, getting under her desk, Shinji follows, dizzily hiding under the table. “Give it a minute.” she yells over the noise. It's like the sound of a fork scratching a dinner plate combined with the screeching of an amusement park and the dragging of chalk across a chalkboard.

“What's happening?” Shinji cries. Asuka doesn't answer.

Soon, the screaming stops. Then, there's quiet laughter coming from Kaworu's room. Asuka peeks over the top of her desk, and Shinji follows, feeling slightly afraid for his life.

“What the hell was that?”

“Sh.” Asuka smacks his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, before the door in question opens and out walks the most peculiar person Shinji has ever seen.

“See? I told you!” Asuka whisper-yells. Shinji's eyes are wide and his right eye twitches.

“That looks like a... a...” he says, trying to think of just how to describe this person... thing. What even.

“A...” Asuka tries, too.

“Um, a...”

“A blue octahedron!” they say together. The person... er... geometrical figure... navigates itself down the stairs, and once again the hospital is bathed in the quiet that it should be.

“That person... is Kaworu's family?”

“Yeah! They're so freaking weird!”

“But was that... even a person?”

Asuka stands, eyeing Kaworu's door in what can only be described as pure apprehension. “I don't know. You go ask him. At least you can actually talk to him without getting screamed at, unlike his seriously weird siblings...”

Shinji shakes his head and stands. He wonders if he's still at home, asleep, having a fever-induced stupor of a dream. In fact, maybe he should just go home... But, then again, he came all this way, and it's been so long since he's seen Kaworu. With a huff, he hesitantly approaches the door. If anything else, he feels pretty cute in his jacket with his hair all ruffled up. Oh my god, he did not just think that.

When he enters, Kaworu smiles.

“Who... was that?”

“Oh, that was Ramiel. She's a little loud, but she's such a wonderful artist.”

“She... a she.” Shinji murmurs. “That was a she.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, nothing.” he says. He tries to smile but it hurts his head. Maybe he shouldn't have come, after all...

“It's nice to see you again.” Kaworu says. The flowers in the room are beginning to wilt, but they are still so orange and so sweet. The pale boy folds his hands in his lap, and his smile brightens. “Shinji.” he says, the boy's name leaving his lips with a jump of his shoulders and a tilt of his smile.

Shinji smiles, too. But then, it occurs to him... that this is the part where he's left all alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Even though it knows it's decaying.


	5. Orange You Glad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flutter, flutter, flutter...

Feelings are a silly thing. Shinji is too busy widening his eyes and trying to slow the pattering of his heart to realize that this time around he had forgotten the flowers, but who cares, because Kaworu is sitting there, smiling, looking dandy as ever, as if he hadn't just graced Shinji with the best news the poor boy had heard in a long while. That said, feelings are silly, because in his flabbergasted state Shinji promptly tries to enter the room and ends up tripping over his own heel and steadying himself on a nearby chair.

“Are you alright?” Kaworu says, instantly standing and fretting in worry.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shinji assures, holding up a hand and waving it around, signaling the other boy to calm down. “Just surprised.”

Kaworu gingerly clasps his hands in front of himself and blinks.

“Surprised?”

“Well, yeah.” Shinji mumbles, righting himself. “You actually remembered my name. My first name. Which I only told you once. God, was that all I had to do, tell you my first name?”

It's a little funny how used to amnesia Shinji had become, so much so that anything other than memory loss was taken as a shock.

Kaworu sits down again. He stares at Shinji, blinking very seldom.

“I don't follow.”

Shinji sits, too, ready to listen to Kaworu get lost again. This time, though, a fragment of hope digs through the maze-like rubble that is the pale boy's mind, and sings at the top of its lungs.

“Why would I--” Kaworu starts, but is interrupted by a horrific, gargantuan sneeze. His mouth is open mid-phrase and he simply gapes at the dark-haired boy.

“Jeez.” Shinji mutters. He rubs his eyes and his nose, blinking sleepily at the ground and then at Kaworu. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I told you you were sick.”

“Shh.”

Kaworu takes a moment to worry over the other boy before smiling a little and continuing what he had been saying. “Why on Earth would I forget your name?”

There's a stretch of silence. Shinji's eye twitches, and he sniffles loudly. Kaworu stares at the other boy, all innocence and excitement and smiles. Shinji coughs. He seriously does not feel like explaining everything to Kaworu again. After all of those times he had done so previously, doing so now would just feel like... kicking a dead bird. Or something.

The quiet sticks around for long enough that the two can hear birds (so that's why he thought of birds) chirping outside as well as the raspy passing of cars.

“Shinji?”

Shinji still can't get over the fact that Kaworu remembers his name. And that is precisely why he does not feel like explaining the predicament to the boy. Again. For the thousandth time. He wants something different, not the same old drawl about lost memories and ID cards.

Bemused, Kaworu approaches Shinji and holds a lopsided frown. He stands over the boy, who just stares up at him with an expression that can only be described as 'done'. If Kaworu strains his ears, he swears he can hear a small, continuous growl coming from the sitting boy.

“What's wrong?” he asks, kneeling closer to the shorter boy's level.

“Nothing.” Shinji replies automatically, his eyes following the other boy.

Kaworu pouts. He tilts his head, and the two share what appears to be a stubborn staring contest.

“No, something is wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong.”

“Shinji, I don't think you came here to pout.” Kaworu says, leveled.

“I didn't come here to pout.”

“Then why are you pouting?”

“I'm not pouting.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.”

Kaworu smiles, standing again. “No you're not.”

“Yes I a-- ugh.” Shinji sniffles. He rubs at his nose and glares at a group of orange daisies across the room.

“I'd like for you to tell me what's the matter.”

Shinji looks up, then, and it's at this particular moment that he recalls being scolded for not doing his homework or something as a child and being told, _'Son, I'm disappointed in you'_ , and he's not sure why he thinks of this right now, it's just that Kaworu's eyebrows are risen, his arms are folded, and he may as well be tapping his foot on the ground. If he doesn't fess up, he knows that the pale-faced boy will get it out of him eventually.

“Well I mean, I feel like hell.” he starts.

Kaworu reclaims his seat across from Shinji. “Mm-hm.” he hums, resembling a therapist to a disturbing degree. Which is ironic, considering he is the one currently under medical care.

“And, well, I _guess_ I'm lazy.”

“You're... lazy.”

“Yeah! This is going to sound so stupid.” he says, preparing himself for the worst. “But I seriously do not feel like explaining things to you today. Why you'd forget my name, I mean.”

Looking up, Shinji sees that Kaworu is indeed confused, just as he'd expected. Perhaps he's merely digging himself into a deeper, more hellish hole.

“Look. I came in here, and the first thing you did was remember my name. And I guess I thought, oh, thank god, it's finally over, and then you say you don't know why you'd forget me... and it's like. A paradox. Like, you forgot why you would forget. So it's like ten steps backward, do you get what I'm saying?” he tries, waving his hands around as he talks.

Kaworu stares. “No. I have absolutely no idea what you're saying.”

“These.” Shinji gestures all around the room, referring to the flowers. “I bought you all of them. All of them. Do you know how much that cost me? Flowers are not cheap. I bought them hoping eventually you'd remember who I was and then--”

And then, a few years from now, the two of them will be on completely different paths and Kaworu will think to himself, ha, remember that time when that guy bought me all those flowers? I think his name was Shinji. Shinji realizes then that the only reason he had been buying them was because he wanted to be significant, for once, even if he became a funny story one could tell around those that they actually _care_ about--

“You still have a fever.”

“Ha?” Shinji pauses in his tangent.

“You're definitely not thinking straight. You're all over the place. I think you need to go home and rest, I'll still be here when you're back.”

But that's the thing, Shinji thinks. What if you're not here when I get back and I'm not anything important and then it's back to square one and I have to throw out all these flowers by myself-- but then, why do I care? Why do I care, he thinks. And, hey, you can't accuse me of not thinking clearly when you have a geometric entity for a relative, you stupid--

“Do you always behave like this when you're ill?”

“Behave like what?” Gee, it's bright in here. “You're one to talk. Haha, you got knocked out by a lamp.”

“Shinji...” Kaworu bites his lip, narrows his eyes, and scrutinizes the other boy who may as well be seeing stars.

“A lamp.” Shinji repeats, snorting, before slowly shaking his head. He looks at Kaworu in question.

“You're really off in your own world right now, aren't you.”

“I guess.” he replies, not really thinking but at the same time thinking too hard. He does that too much.

Kaworu frowns. He watches the other boy dance around in his head, and even though he is so sorely, sorely confused, there is one thing that he is absolutely certain of.

Shinji Ikari is quite literally the cutest person he has ever laid eyes on.

O

“Oh, I was afraid you were not coming back.”

Shinji's heart decides to leap into his throat right as he enters the familiar room. He nearly slams a fresh pot of orange lilies onto the nearest surface. Turning, he quirks an eyebrow Kaworu's way and stumbles through his next choice of words. The pale boy beats him to it, though.

“It's been weeks.”

Unsure of where to put his hands, Shinji settles on making fists at his sides.

“I came the day before yesterday.” As if furthering his proof, he lets out a ridiculous cough. “You kicked me out because I was... _am_ sick. Even though it's not that bad. Really.”

Kaworu, sitting crisscrossed with what looks like some really boring magazine by his foot, narrows his eyes. “I told you you were sick.”

“Yeah, you did! The time before last time!”

“... But, that was the last time. Shinji, why would I forget one of your visits?”

It is at this point that Shinji acquires the overwhelming urge to fall on the floor in despair. His shoulders deflate, and his eye twitches. “Are you kidding me.”

Kaworu blinks.

With a deep, frustrated sigh, Shinji rakes a hand through his hair. “Well, I guess we're further than we were before, anyway...” He feels a blank stare from the pale boy drilling into him, but soon that deadpan look morphs into the usual smile.

“It's nice to have someone other than my family visit me now and then, you know?” he says in an obvious effort to make small talk.

Shinji simpers. He sits in the usual spot, and pokes at a pot of tiny flowers to his right. “What are these?”

“Pansies.”

In a sea of orange, these are the only flowers with a bit of yellow and a bit of red speckling their petals. It's a little striking, but on the day that he bought them they were the closest thing to orange in the shop.

“Why are they always orange?” Kaworu asks. He's still sitting like a kid on their first day of kindergarten.

“I like the way they look.”

“You know, I have this orange shirt...”

Shinji quirks an eyebrow.

“It's an undershirt, really. But it's a crop top.” he explains, pointing to his tummy. “It goes to about here.”

Shinji opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of how to respond. “Um.”

Kaworu simply smiles.

O

“Progress.” Asuka says, lilting the first part of the word in an odd sarcastic manner. She twirls her finger in the air and never looks up at Shinji from her perch at the desk. “He's not just going to snap back to normal. It's gonna take time.”

Shinji pouts. That's _definitely_ not what the movies had taught him.

“But...”

“Yeah, yeah.” she sighs. Afterward, she waves him away with her hand. He feels a lot like a dog begging for scraps.

With a quiet, disgruntled huff, he turns on his heel and heads toward the stairs.

“Oh, hey.” Asuka chirps. Shinji stops but he doesn't turn, unsure if she's speaking to him or to someone else. Which, actually, is a little weird, considering they're the only two in the room.

“We're thinking about sending Nagisa home next week. We figure he's got enough memory to live his life, I mean, he really only loses it about every two days or so now. So it's fine. He'll get better for sure, plus it's kind of ridiculous we've had him this long anyway. But I mean, there was no one urging for him to leave. Well, that we know of, anyway. It's a little hard to talk to his family. They just... screech a lot.”

At this, he does turn. Quite swiftly, in fact. “He's checking out?”

Asuka blinks, then grins at Shinji's outburst. “Why so upset?”

Shinji then realizes that his jaw is nearly to the floor and his eyes are wider than the sun. He adjusts himself, clearing his throat and sniffling loudly. Attempting to look confused, he folds his arms and backs up a little. “Upset? Who's upset?”

“You are.” Asuka replies. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were--”

A door slams open, accompanied by the sound of rickety wheels navigating the floor at top speed. Shinji jumps and when his head whips toward the sound he expects to see a patient being wheeled in on a gurney, but is pleasantly surprised to see that it's Mari instead, riding on top of a janitor's cart and bubbling with laughter, her arms spread like the wings of an airplane.

“What in the--”

“Mari!” Asuka shrieks. The janitor's cart flies across the room at the speed of light, and although Asuka leaps up from her seat and chases after it, it's out the door before she can catch it.

Once the room is silent, though, Shinji realizes that he isn't really thinking about what the hell just happened. No, instead, he's wondering what Asuka had been about to say.  
_'If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were...'_ Were? Were what? Shinji stares at the floor for a minute. Were what, were what? There are many things to describe Shinji, and in his opinion most of those things are rather bland, but... were what?

O

“The cello.” Shinji answers. Music, rather unsurprisingly, is one of Kaworu's favorite topics of conversation.

“The cello!” Kaworu exclaims in return. He's positively beaming.

“Yup.”

“I have never understood how people get those things through doorways. They're so big!”

“Kaworu, you play the piano. How do you get a grand piano through a doorway?”

At this, Kaworu appears pensive. Then, he gives Shinji an utterly serious look. “Very carefully.” he says, whatever that's supposed to mean.

There's a bit of comfortable silence.

“Um...”

Shinji looks up from wherever he had been staring. He sniffs, still plagued with the evil that is the common cold. Kaworu averts his eyes at the attention, and Shinji scrunches his eyebrows, caught off guard, because Kaworu is usually one to hold a stare for hours. Is this embarrassment he's seeing?

“You are very cute.” the pale boy stammers. Shinji blinks twice. He almost replies, yes, I know, but thinks better of it. Instead, he looks to the side at nothing in particular.

“There you go again, saying that.”

“I'm being honest! … Wait, again what--”

“Kaworu, when aren't you honest?”

Kaworu almost smiles, but the red on his face is still too much, so he simply remains flustered. It doesn't really occur to Shinji that he's never seen this expression before, and perhaps he should burn it into his brain for future thought. That said, it is a little odd that every previous time the boy had called him cute, he had done so with confidence and indifference. It's enigmatic, this flustered, embarrassed look.

“What do you mean 'again'?”

“You say that all the time. At first it was so weird, but I guess I'm used to it now.”

Kaworu purses his lips, appearing as if he had just been scolded. Shaking his head, he takes a breath.

“But it's great. Having such nice company, I mean.” he says, nearly whispering the words. “It's wonderful.”

Shinji, of course, being a less than fantastical person, doesn't really think much of Kaworu's little speech. In fact, he shrugs. “It's no trouble.”

“You have to attend school, or work, or something, right?”

“... Well, they don't really care if I'm gone, and I seriously hate work, anyway.”

“Oh.” Kaworu breathes. Then, he smiles a small smile. “I'm sorry to hear that, but... is it selfish that I'm glad for that?”

It takes Shinji a minute, but soon his shoulders are tense and his face is hotter than... than... something hot, like a stove, or fire, he doesn't know, all he knows is that Kaworu basically just said, _'Gee, Shinji, I'd be really sad if you prioritized something over me. In other words, I totally enjoy your attention. A little too much.'_ , and he doesn't really take into account that Kaworu has never once used the word 'totally' and probably never would, because he's far too distracted screaming on a roller coaster exclusive to his head and _wow_ is it hot in here or what, why is always so hot in here--

“Ha!” Shinji exclaims, a little too sharply for the confines of a hospital. “Ha! Haha!”

“Shinji?”

“I need to go to the bathroom!” he announces, darting to his full height and practically marching out of the room, feeling the strong urge to bury his burning face into a bowl of ice.

Once the flustered boy is gone, Kaworu stares at the door in silence. Then, he snorts, before he lies down on his stomach, and laughs into his pillow. Perhaps his chances aren't as bleak as he had originally thought.

O

“You know,” Kaworu says one day, looking at nothing in particular and seeming utterly thoughtful, “you might benefit from some orange juice.”

Shinji is about to whine about how expensive something like orange juice can be before he stops himself.

“I guess.” he says instead. “But you might benefit from avoiding lamps in the future.”

“No, I'm serious. Let's go get some orange juice.”

“Huh?”

Kaworu stands and begins rummaging through a pile of what is assumed to be his belongings on one of the tables in the room. Shinji takes a moment to process just what is going on.

“Can you... can you even leave?”

“It would not hurt to ask.”

“Well, actually, it might.”

The pale boy shrugs and pulls a fluffy, green sweater from the pile. What he had worn the day he hit his head, coupled with a coat that won't be necessary this time. He bites his lip and studies the sweater. “It's wrinkled.”

Shinji looks at the sweater. If anything, it's a little on the large side, but in his eyes there are no wrinkles to be seen. Can a sweater even wrinkle? He supposes it depends on the fabric. In his opinion, it's the really good, cozy sweaters that never wrinkle. “I think it's fine.” he mutters. Then, he remembers himself. “But wait, seriously, I don't think you're allowed to leave.”

Kaworu glances at him sidelong. “If I'm with you, it should be fine. Besides, what am I going to do, attack another lamppost?”

Shinji puffs out his cheeks. “You never know how likely that can be.”

Snickering, Kaworu prods the shorter boy out of the room. Shinji supposes that if one wants to leave the hospital, they should not do it in hospital pajamas, lest they be ambushed by the hospital police.

O

As it turns out, the hospital police are temporarily absent. In other words, Asuka is nowhere to be seen, and oddly, once again, the waiting room is completely empty. It had never occurred to him that they might actually sneak out of the hospital, nor did it occur to him that doing so might be illegal. But, hey, he could still blame the fever for his lack of hindsight. Perhaps if he had considered these things, Shinji might protest a little more violently than sarcastically saying they should _so_ not be doing this, that he feels like he's ten years old. And, if he were more lucid, he would also probably be wondering why in the heck he's sneaking out to buy orange juice with someone he had yet to realize had become his friend, for lack of a better word.

That aside, it's a chilly day, as is the regular. So, of course, his nose is red and his hands are snuggling in his pockets. Goosebumps are sneaky devils, and the wind has a sense of humor when it covers half of Kaworu's face with his ruffled hair.

“We're here!” Kaworu announces to the outside air, spreading his arms wide as the two make their first step into the old decrepit parking lot of a convenience store.

“Glamorous.” Shinji deadpans. Kaworu doesn't hear him, though, because he's already trotting ahead through the automatic doors of the tiny building. It occurs to the dark-haired boy that Kaworu hasn't been outside, apart from the garden, in at least a month. A sense of sympathy suddenly overflows within him, and he shakes his head, following the eccentric boy into the run-down store.

The man behind the counter, who has his hair in a haphazard ponytail and a pot of flowers similar to the ones in the hospital shop on the counter, gives them a nod and a wave when they enter, which Shinji returns with a small smile as Kaworu all but runs into the store's aisles. They head straight for the refrigerated section, and Shinji's smile widens when he sees Kaworu bouncing on his feet. He sidles up to the right side of the boy, and he pulls his wallet from his pocket. How many things is he going to buy for this boy's sake, he wonders, how many things...

“Oh.” Kaworu says. He's looking sidelong at the cash in Shinji's hands. “That will not be necessary.”

“Huh?”

He begins rummaging through his pockets and pulls out a wrinkled bill. “This is on me.”

“Wha- but--”

Kaworu smiles, and when he does a little puff of breath leaves him. He bumps his shoulder to the other boy's, who stumbles, and pads over to the remote juice corner. After all, who in the world goes to a convenience store for juice?

Shinji, after a moment, follows, however now there is a noticeable cloud of gloom over his head. It's a nice gesture, he knows, it's just that something about it feels weird. He can't remember the last time anyone bought anything for him. Then he realizes that it's just orange juice and he shouldn't make such a big deal out of it, but... well, it means something to him.

Kaworu picks up an untouched carton of orange juice and stares at it for a moment. Then, he shakes it a little, and puts it back. He picks up another one. This one, he sniffs.

Shinji quirks an eyebrow. “Kaworu, what are you doing?”

“Making sure it's good.” he replies, matter-of-fact. He flicks the third carton with his index finger.

“You can just check the sell-by date for that.” Shinji says weakly.

Kaworu shakes his head. “Let me rephrase that. I'm making sure it's excellent.”

Shinji blinks. “Uh... okay.”

After approximately five minutes of Kaworu assaulting random cartons of juice, he finally decides on one in particular that had been hidden in the back. It does look rather pristine, Shinji has to admit.

“The perfect juice.” Kaworu breathes.

“You are so weird.” Shinji says. Now that he thinks about it, and he realizes that it's a little late to think about it, orange juice does sound pretty heavenly.

Abruptly, Kaworu whips the carton toward Shinji's face. Shinji stumbles and holds his hands up in defense. His eyes pinch shut, and he thinks that he's about to be slapped in the cheek with a carton of juice for some odd reason... but then, something cool and dripping with condensation touches his ill, burning forehead, and he sighs. Slowly, his eyes open, and he sees Kaworu with his head cocked to the left.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

“I don't know.” Shinji replies, bland. His eyelids lower, and he stares at the other boy for a moment. He doesn't think he's ever seen someone with pale eyelashes like this before. Regaining his breath, his hands tremble upward and he holds the cold carton to his head. It feels so nice, but he does know that he probably looks like a nutcase.

“Do you want me to get you some ice too?” Kaworu asks. His voice is a lot quieter than it had been earlier.

“No, it's okay.” Shinji says. “I have some at home.”

Kaworu looks at him a moment longer before gently taking the cold carton away. “I have to pay for it, and then you can have it back.”

“Okay.” he says, and when Kaworu begins walking toward the register he follows behind him like a lost duckling.

Once outside, they walk side-by-side, and realize that the sun is setting. “It's getting late.” Shinji remarks.

“Mm-hm.”

This time, when the wind hits them, it's not quite so comical. Rather, it's relaxing, and when Kaworu lights up in one of his closed-eye smiles and passes the juice to Shinji, the dark-haired boy experiences the incredibly corny epiphany that when their fingers brush for just a fraction of a second, he feels like he is about to melt and scream all at once. He doesn't, though. Instead, he smiles back, and when they begin walking again he trips into a pothole and scrapes his knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... flutter, flutter.
> 
> O
> 
> I always get weird looks when I buy juice from the convenience store. Oh well.  
> I'm very used to Karlshin after reading the manga over and over again, if you can't tell. Of course, that's not to say their other personalities aren't visible... Gosh, it's like a melting pot of three people into one. Am I making sense? Will I ever stop rambling? Stay tuned, stir-fry.


	6. Window-Breather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't deliver my heart twice...

_'I need to get my shit together.'_

This is the sole thought that goes through Shinji's mind when he steps into the hospital once again a few days later, a small pot of orange lilies in his hand, with a big, stupid grin on his face. He has no idea why he's smiling, he tells himself, and no idea why there's a tiny jump in his gait. Perhaps it's because he's mostly recovered from his case of the sniffles, thanks partially to a stunning carton of juice.

Really, though, he feels ridiculous, walking into a somber place like a hospital and feeling like he could kick every bad thing in the face.

His mirth is overruled, though, because when he sets foot into the familiar waiting room, he sees none other than Kaworu right in front of Asuka's desk, wearing a smile that is quite literally monstrous in comparison to Shinji's. Curiously, the dark-haired boy lets his grin fall.

“I could arrest him.” Asuka says lowly.

“But you wouldn't do that.” Kaworu retorts, only losing his grin the tiniest bit.

“He kidnapped you. You're a patient. I could literally arrest him.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, but Shinji is quite the opposite of a criminal.”

Interest piqued, Shinji ambles up to the commotion, setting the flowers onto Asuka's desk.

“What's going on?” he asks, hurried but weak.

“Hello!” Kaworu chirps.

“ _You_.” Asuka seethes.

Shinji feels like he shouldn't be where he is even though the conversation is apparently about him.

“Me.” Shinji says, blandly.

“Yeah, you! I could have you thrown out of here, I could, I could... arrest you!”

“She seems hellbent on sending you to prison, for some reason.” Kaworu chimes in, rocking on his heels. “Frankly, I don't think you'd last very long in a place like that.”

Before Shinji can even asks what that's supposed to mean, Asuka stands, creating a clamor with the wheels of her chair, and hurries around to the other side of the desk. Abruptly, she jabs a finger into Shinji's face. “You're telling me you don't know what's going on, Arschgesicht? You're trying to convince me that you're just an innocent little kid, huh?”

Shinji parts his lips and quirks an eyebrow, tilting slightly away from Asuka's accusing jab. Kaworu actually laughs a little bit, not because he knows what's going on, but because he just finds situations like these humorous.

After a moment of quiet, Shinji just says a simple, “No.”

The girl with the bright hair proceeds to pull her sleeves up, and one could swear that steam was coming out of her ears. “Why, I ought to--”

“I mean, I didn't kidnap him. That just makes me sound creepy.” Shinji hurries, a little afraid for his life. “It was more like he kidnapped me. Tell her, Kaworu!”

Kaworu, who had been staring at the brand new pot of orange lilies, only glances blankly at Shinji. “Tell her what?”

“Ugh!”

“I could have been fired because of you!”

“You weren't even at your desk!”

“You kidnapped an amnesia patient!”

“Amnesia?”

“Yes, Kaworu. Amnesia--”

“Ikari, you have three seconds before I punch your teeth in--”

“I'm telling you, it's not what you think!”

“Fat chance, idiot.”

“He made me go to the store with him! That's it!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire--”

And then there is a weird sound, much like a liquid hiss, and the two halt their bickering.

There's nothing after that, but for a single, miniscule drop. Kaworu is smiling, as usual. Shinji is utterly mortified. Asuka is standing still, her head tilted to the side and her mouth wide open, with a fresh layer of water on the left side of her face.

“You're making a commotion.” Mari says, squirt-bottle still poised directly near the red-head's face. Asuka blinks. Then, she clamps her mouth shut.

For effect, Mari squeezes the bottle again, firing a secondary spray. “No injuring guests, Asuka. That's against the rules.”

O

It's a rainy day. Shinji sneezes, and after doing so he doesn't feel quite as miserable as he would have a day or so prior.

Every time Asuka had tried to speak, Mari had sprayed her with water. At first, it was funny, but after a while he began to feel bad for the poor girl. She was only doing her job, after all... but it wasn't as if Shinji had done anything wrong, right?

… Right. He's a little lost in thought, and apparently this is obvious because Kaworu is being quieter than usual today.

Shinji stares out the window. His mood, which had been so elevated earlier, was now just a little bit simmered, but not anywhere near depressed. It's not that he's sad, it's just that he's thinking a lot, really. About the flowers, about the crazy people in this hospital, about the best carton of orange juice he has ever had in his life, as well as about the fact that Kaworu would be gone in less than four days.

But no, he knows. He's not sad. He's happy. Not because Kaworu is leaving, but because Kaworu had cared, if only for a day. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but Shinji is considering keeping the empty juice carton.

Water is nagging at the window and the room is a tad bit chilly, which is quite nice in comparison to the blinding heat it once held, but it's quiet so that makes it somber by default.

“Shinji, did you kill someone?”

Shinji chokes on his own breath, coughing out his shock. Kaworu quickly turns, strides up to him, and stares him directly in the face, planting his hands firmly on the shorter boy's shoulders.

“Because if you did... I'll help you hide the body.”

“What are you talking about?” he cries, mind racing.

“What was all that prison speak? I honestly did not think that you were into that kind of thing, but if you are I guess that's just who you are and--”

“Kaworu, oh my god!”

“What!”

“You just bought me some orange juice, for crying out loud!”

“... Huh?”

Shinji takes Kaworu's wrists away from his shoulders and holds them in the air, sternly and angrily peering into his eyes. “Orange. Juice.”

“O... okay.”

Taking one more second to glare, Shinji huffs. “And besides, you're the one who made me leave, anyway. I don't see why everyone is blaming me.”

“Oh...”

It's quiet, then, save for the pattering of rain and the sound of two boys breathing. Shinji is looking at the ground, now, and he's not really thinking about anything but how ridiculous this all is and how much he needs to pull himself together, how he needs to stop spending so much money and needs to stop pretending to be happy and needs to stop acting like he's not sad, needs to quit that false skip in his step, needs to tell himself the truth, the truth that he will be sad because Kaworu will be gone soon- and, and he doesn't even know.

“Are you mad at me? For apparently dragging you away?”

Shinji looks up, achingly slow, only to see Kaworu with such a prominent pink on his cheeks that he may as well have painted them, and he's not sure, but he thinks he sees the pallid boy's bottom lip wobbling just a tiny bit. Shinji furrows his eyebrows and parts his lips, pensive. He blinks about three times, merely taking in the boy's face. All previous, troublesome thoughts no longer exist.

“ _You're_ cute.” he says.

Kaworu nearly jumps out of his skin. “Huh?”

“Um!” Shinji cries, now realizing that he still has a hold of Kaworu's arms. He recoils as if burnt, and backs away about six feet into the wall. Kaworu stares after him, looking all sorts of concerned, flustered, and upset. “Um, uh... what I meant to say was uh... no, no I'm not! Not mad, at you, ha, ha, no, nope... jeez, it's funny how you can trip over words sometimes, huh? What a crazy world we live in!”

Kaworu's face only makes the transition from pink to red, deeply contrasting his complexion and matching his eyes to a frightening degree. His hands draw into near fists at his collarbone, and he swallows audibly, but no words leave him.

Once again, only the sound of rain can be heard. Shinji feels himself getting closer and closer to the pits of his own personal hell.

And they just stand there a long while, like two awkward penguins who do nothing but stand around all day, forever.

But then, Kaworu whispers something.

“H-huh?” Shinji stammers.

“I said, you are... more so than I am. Much more, that is...”

“More what?” he blurts, immediately regretting it afterward. It's just that he can't really think anymore, and... he can't even think enough to finish that thought about not thinking.

  
“C-cute.” Kaworu turns to the left, pretending to appear very interested in a white stain on the window that is probably a bird dropping. He doesn't really know what he's looking at, though, so it's rather understandable... still, it's no less humorous.

Without a word, Shinji leaves the room, honestly intent on coming back in a hour or so once he stops screaming in his head.

O

And he does come back an hour later, very cautiously. Kaworu probably forgot, Shinji keeps telling himself. That was just a slip-up that Kaworu will forget in a matter of seconds, or perhaps he already has. Of course, Shinji forgets the fact that Asuka had said that Kaworu only 'resets' every two days or so, but of course, things such as that which he had wisely deemed unimportant aren't really on his mind when he cautiously opens the familiar door.

It creaks when pushed ajar, and Shinji blinks, quite sure that it has never done that before. Perhaps he's suddenly stepped into an alternate dimension, one where hospitals are haunted houses... and his suspicion only heightens when he finds that the room is empty, save for its collection of flora and a neatly made bed. The room is so void of life that it strikes an unexpected nerve within him.

Shinji's heart flies into his throat, and he whips his head around at the same time that Asuka nonchalantly flips a page of her magazine. She doesn't look up.

“U-um.” Shinji tries helplessly.

“What?”

He gestures to the door wildly with his hands, panicking too much to really talk. Asuka blinks, looking up and switching her gaze between Shinji and the aforementioned door.

“Oh. He left.” she says, matter-of-fact. Shinji inhales so much air all at once that it burns his throat.

“H-huh?”

“He left.”

And he just stands there. Asuka stares at him a moment longer, before peering back down to her magazine. After a moment, she flips another page.

With painful slowness, Shinji looks sidelong over his shoulder at all of the flowers, and then at the floor. He swallows.

Then, his feet move on their own, and he's waddling and tripping down the stairs that smell like cleaning supplies again.

O

An hour. Within an hour, Kaworu had left, and the last words that Shinji had spoken to him were downright mediocre. He feels a little saddened. He's staring up at his ceiling, listening to the music of his phone, with a blue duvet covering only his left leg. Just a little bit saddened.

The old, dusty light fixture above his head flickers.

Something filtering in through the window smells of filthy smoke. He sniffs, still not completely rid of whatever virus he had caught.

Then, the light above his head dies, and he's left in a pitch dark apartment that stinks and is cold and is lonely.

O

One of the most satisfying things in the world is the crunch that comes of stomping on a dry, dead leaf resting on a bed of pavement. Alternately, one of the worst things in the world is stomping on that leaf and finding it to be soggy despite its stiffness and color. For a while now, Shinji has felt that things have most definitely not been going his way. It seems that every single day is now morphed into 'one of those days', and every single hour is an agonizing exam taken at the end of a high school year. So, it's only natural that every second should be a kick to the shin.

He seldom sleeps, once again, and for the life of him, he cannot figure out just where this misery is coming from.

That said, Shinji is an incredibly sad sight at this present moment. He is, quite literally, walking through what seems to be some kind of random carnival in the middle of town with a dreary cloud hovering above his head. There are children pattering around in their winter coats with fluffs of cotton candy around their lips, there are street performers, games, vendors, what looks like a miniature roller coaster, and even a clown. And then, there is Shinji Ikari, thinking about what kind of soup he's going to make himself for dinner tonight and why vegetables taste so bitter. There are endless ways in which one can describe a pout, but to put it simply, Shinji is currently the fly that landed in his own ice cream sundae.

And so he walks, or toddles, whichever suits him best. Soon, the merrymaking is sparse and the clouds once again mask the sun, casting a shadow over the streets as well as a sheet of icy air. He licks his chapped lips as he stares at the ground, not even thinking about where he's going, just certain that he has to buy something for dinner and that it had better be pretty damn cheap.

It's worth noting that many satisfying things in this world come from stepping on various objects, usually somewhere within the spectrum of dried leaves and crumbling asphalt. He doesn't notice much when the asphalt turns into old tiles and he glides through a set of automatic doors, coming very close to bumping into the aisles of whatever store he had just stumbled into.

Shinji realizes that, eventually, he is going to have to look up. So he does, but not without groaning under his breath.

And then he sees a wall of orange juice.

It had never occurred to him just how much something like an aisle at a grocery store could hurt him. He feels stupid. He needs to get his shit together. He's just a little sad, that's all, just a little... he turns on his heel, grabs a cup of noodles, and proceeds to buy them from the guy at the counter who is still the same with the flowers and the ponytail and for some reason that makes it hurt all the more.

“Thanks.” he says, hurrying outside.

“You okay?” the guy behind the counter asks.

Shinji doesn't even reply. He practically power-walks the rest of the way home, huffing and puffing and feeling like a flaming pile of miserable. Once he is fed and alone and quiet and sleepy, he cries, just a little bit. Let it be known, only a little bit, and nothing more.

O

It seems that everyone is always under the impression that crying rids the body of its troubles, that it's a sort of drain for stress, guilt, and all of the like. But for Shinji, it has never been that way, and he contemplates this issue feverishly while he drags himself out of bed to get his daily dose of sun. He passes the usual mirror, and glances into its surface. It's still stained a rustic orange (seriously, where did that stain even come from), but that doesn't matter to him, because it always does its job well enough and to someone like Shinji, that's really all that matters.

This time, the only things he notices are the shadows underneath his eyes.

But the sun is bright, and that matters a little bit, he thinks as he treks outside. In fact, it's so bright that he's able to leave without a jacket around his shoulders, and that is as refreshing as it is exciting. Only for a moment, though, because soon he's back to his dreary square one. At least, he thinks, after having a good sob fest, he can be humorous about how ridiculous all of this is. He is the only person he knows who is prone to becoming so sad over absolutely nothing, so often.

So he walks, as is the norm. It's funny, how one is always going somewhere, whether it's mentally or physically... but there are exceptions to this rule, and Shinji is about to dub himself one of them when he is interrupted by the most hilarious sound he has ever heard.

It's akin to a balloon being slapped by a palm, or perhaps to a pancake falling onto a sidewalk. Startled, his head whips around in an attempt to find the source of the noise, and he realizes a little too late that he has absolutely no idea where he is. Maybe he should stop going on walks like these, he thinks. They might be a little dangerous...

The sound rings out once again. It sounds a little bit like throwing a cupcake against a wall, too. Then it echoes again, and again, and again, and after a fervent bout of searching Shinji finally locates its source and he cannot believe his eyes.

He's near the hospital. His focus is near the sky, but that's not what he's looking at. No, he's staring, astonished, at the face of his friend, whose cheeks are puffed out and pressed into a window three stories up. Kaworu breathes, and when he does so the window fogs up. He peels his face off of the window, says something that Shinji cannot hear, clearly looking down at him as he talks. Once again, his face hits the window.

With no idea what is going on, Shinji shakes his head, scratches the back of his neck, stares up at Kaworu's strange antics for just a moment longer, and enters the building.

O

When Shinji, very, very gingerly opens the door, he is indeed met with the face of his friend, who has red blotches on his cheeks from when they had been on the window. All he does is stare at those spots.

For the first time in his life, Shinji sees tears spring to life in Kaworu's eyes.

“You didn't have to lie to me!” the pale boy cries, sounding alike to a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Shinji just stares at the teensy droplets of water in the corners of a pair of red eyes.

“I asked if you were mad and then you said no and then you didn't come back and then I got sad and then I got alone and then--” he sniffs loudly, “--the flowers died and then I thought I'd never see you again, and I _guess_ I'm sorry, you're really not cute, you're the worst--”

“You...” Shinji whispers, flaring up. He doesn't know what he's about to say, though, because the words die on the way to his tongue. Kaworu continues his incoherent, sniveling rant. In all honesty, Shinji had not expected such a composed, abstract person as Kaworu to have a side like this, but in the end, he does think that it suits him rather well. Not everyone can live behind a curtain, after all... No, most certainly not Kaworu, and most certainly not Shinji. He knows it, too, and soon he's wiping at his eyes and getting so enraged at himself for crying at this guy who was once completely random, who was once nothing but someone who hit his head and still kind of is that guy, even though he might matter a little bit now... a little bit. The stupid idiot.

“Wh-why are you crying?” Kaworu asks. Shinji realizes that the two of them, sniveling at each other across a room, look like a pair of literal giant babies.

“Because of you!” Shinji blurts.

“I made you cry?” Kaworu cries, and the look on his face is nothing short of devastated. “You made me cry!”

“Stop crying, you're making me cry more!”

“No, I was crying first!”

“Cry doesn't even sound like a word anymore!” Shinji shouts.

Kaworu wipes at his face with his sleeves, and the whites of his eyes are beginning to match the hue of his irises. He sniffs, and he hiccups. “If you were mad at me, you should have just said so.” he whimpers.

“I wasn't mad at you!”

“Then why didn't you come back? It was really lonely!”

“Asuka told me you left!”

“... What?”

Shinji covers his entire face with his hands, wishing he could crawl into his own private hole and soothe his injured pride. He's shaking, he realizes, and the whole room smells like dying plants.

“I don't leave until tomorrow.” Kaworu murmurs.

And it's quiet for just a fraction of a moment.

“... Wait.” Shinji looks up again, but not without wiping his face first. “How do you know that?”

“That's what I was told.”

“... When?”

“Oh, about the day before--” a hiccup, “--yesterday.”

“And you remember that?”

“Well... yes.”

“And you... you remember calling me cute the last time.”

Kaworu flinches, but answers anyhow. “Yes... I won't do that again, I'm really--”

“No, no.” Shinji says. Even through his spontaneous tears, he's smiling, and he ambles up to Kaworu, filled with more joy than he has felt in longer than he can remember. “You can go ahead, but, Kaworu, don't you get it?”

Kaworu blinks, sniffing. “G-get what?”

“You got better!”

“I got... better.”

“Yeah!”

“I got better!”

“You got better!”

“What does that mean?”

“That means... that means that you won't forget every day anymore, I think.” Shinji sniffs, loudly. Currently, it seems, they are both aboard a rather dramatic emotional roller-coaster.

Kaworu blinks. “Are you lying to me again?”

“I never lied to you. I wasn't mad about that.”

A small, humming whimper comes from the taller, pale boy as he appears to pause in thought. “But then... why didn't you come back?”

“I already told you, Asuka said you left.”

They stand there, staring at each other, blinking occasionally. An ornery bird caws outside. Then, they run out of the room.

O

“Looks like it was all a big misunderstanding!” Mari shrugs.

“Haha, oh my god, look at your faces. Is this a weenie convention?”

“What is a 'weenie'?” Kaworu asks himself under his breath.

“Misunderstanding?” Shinji mutters, bitter. “How could this turn into a misunderstanding?”

Shinji and Kaworu had quite literally stormed up to the front of Asuka's desk, where she had looked up at them indifferently and popped her bubble gum. Mari was there, too, hiding underneath Asuka's desk for some reason, and, well, here they are.

“You see.” Asuka says, picking up her pen and pointing it at Kaworu. “This guy... left.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but--”

“He left. To go take a bath.”

“... Oh.”

Kaworu claps his hands together. “Was that when that happened?”

“You were in the bath?”

“Yes, Shinji, I take my bubble-baths _very_ seriously--”

“Good!” Mari cheers. “No more tears, you two.” she says, patting them both on the shoulder.

“Right.” Asuka nods. She looks at them both, then reaches into her desk drawer. “But you, I'll need you to sign this.” she says, retrieving a thin sheet of paper. “It's your release form. You're ready to go tomorrow morning. Do you have a ride? They make me ask that.”

“Mmh.” Kaworu presses his lips together, grabbing a pen and inking an incredibly gorgeous signature, with curls at the end of every letter. “No, actually.”

And then, the weirdest thing happens. Shinji had been staring at Asuka's desk, not really thinking about anything, feeling like his part in the conversation was through and that he was free to leave whenever he pleased. But then, he feels Kaworu looking at him, and when he returns the look he finds the other boy smiling.

“Could you give me a ride?”

“Wh--” Shinji stammers. “I... I don't have a car.”

Kaworu's eyes shut from the force of his smile and he shrugs. “You can walk me, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I went full-on Karl with this one, and I regret nothing.  
> But, dude. You guys' support has helped me so much. Thank you, I know I probably sound like an excited idiot when I reply to you, but, well, I just need to express how much it motivates me. Thank youuu <3


	7. It's Cold But That's Okay

Crisp, morning air is a lot like that guy who punches you in the stomach for no reason whatsoever. A relatable metaphor seems redundant at this point, simply because Shinji feels like he's been punched in the stomach for no reason whatsoever and there's literally nothing else to it.

To clarify, he's standing outside the hospital at five in the morning, bitterly watching the sun rise without anything but a simple flannel shirt to cover his shoulders because all of his jackets and hoodies have been smelling rather akin to month-old sweat as of late. That said, Shinji has never been fond of the cold. He doesn't mind morning, in particular, but when it's a cold morning he simply has to bear a grudge because he shivers enough already without the hindrance of biting air. And so, he feels like he's been punched in the gut, by the cold, to be exact, and that is why morning air is a _great big jerk_.

He's not sure why he came so early or why he came at all, considering Kaworu isn't scheduled to leave until 5:30, and, well, the prospect of walking the boy home still just seemed so... weird. All the same, Kaworu had insisted, and Shinji is indeed the type to easily fall unto the whims of others. Shinji also isn't sure why he hadn't entered the hospital, but for some reason it doesn't feel right to do so when he's sure that Kaworu is currently getting ready to leave the place. Shinji would more than likely just be in the way.

So, he stands outside, in the partial dark, with gooseflesh and a frigid, red nose. This is awful for his health immediately after recovering from a cold, he thinks, but he doesn't do anything about it because he's already here and doing something about it would require some measure of effort.

It's quite lonely, apart from the hum of a breeze and the passing of a truck. He considers sitting down, and after a moment he does so, feeling rather crusty and gross sitting against the wall of a building. It doesn't matter, though. Shinji begins fiddling with his phone, which still has fingerprints upon its surface that are most certainly not his. … Not that he remembers that, of course. Where these thoughts are coming from, he does not know.

O

Thirty minutes later, Shinji is awakened from whatever weird reverie he had been in the middle of by a gentle, yet friendly voice.

“Good morning.”

With a yawn into his knees, he pockets his phone, looking up to see his guest smiling down at him.

“Morning.” he mumbles, rubbing his right eye with a fist.

The sun had at last touched the sky, and with it came a bit of warmth that was more welcome than a large sum of cash lying on the ground. Kaworu looks as though he hasn't just spent more than a month confined to a single building, what with his hair all fluffy (How does he even do that?) and his smile all chipper. The rays of the sun are fanning out from behind his head, and through the strands of his hair tiny dots of morning light are decorating his pale cheeks. Shinji thinks he looks stupidly pretty, and he adds the 'stupid' part because he simply has a hard time thinking such a thought without doing so.

When Kaworu blinks and holds out a hand for Shinji to take, it occurs to him a bit too late that he's been sitting for more than what it considered socially acceptable. Without thinking he takes the hand, and Kaworu pulls him up, never halting his smile and wearing the same leafy-green sweater he had worn when they had pilfered a nearby convenience store for orange juice. Hopefully the hospital had washed it for him, but if not Shinji is for some reason certain that it won't smell bad.

“You look cold.” Kaworu remarks once Shinji is standing. Indeed, he is chattering his teeth in an impish manner, as well as folding his arms.

“That's probably because I am cold.”

“Hmm.” hums the pale boy. He messes with the hem of his sweater and stares into space, evidently contemplating something. Shinji watches him with mild curiosity.

After a while, Kaworu shakes his head slowly. “Let's go, then.”

O

“Do you live downtown?” Shinji asks after quite a large expanse of walking. Rather than heading closer to the derelict suburbs in which Shinji resides, Kaworu had led them toward the heart of the city, where both the buildings and the ambitions were quite unrealistically high. In hindsight, Shinji doesn't think it'd be very surprising if Kaworu did live in one of those high-end apartments in the middle of all the action, but he's immediately confused by Kaworu's answer.

“Something like that.” comes the reply, nonchalant. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes are half-lidded and relaxed. Perhaps he enjoys the morning. Cars are becoming more populous, and the air is beginning to smell like fuel rather than the jerk that is cold.

Kaworu takes a left. Shinji follows. He wonders why he's even here in the first place. To make sure Kaworu doesn't suddenly forget where he is, probably, even though they had kind of already jumped that hurdle.

Then, Kaworu takes another left, and Shinji blinks in surprise as that left is through a door with a noisy bell on top and a sticker of a chestnut-colored rabbit on its glass.

“Uh.” he says to no one. Kaworu is already inside the place, getting farther away as the seconds tick by. Shinji whips his head around, not really looking at anything. Does he go inside? Is this where Kaworu lives? An old-fashioned sign above its door reads 'Tea Shop', and the building itself has only one level. Shinji highly doubts that this is the pale boy's place of residence.

Kaworu turns, blinking at Shinji through the window and tilting his head to the side, confused. With a huff, Shinji stumbles through the lousy, noisy door, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glaring at the ground.

“What's wrong?”

Shinji fervently shakes his head and does not speak.

“Hm.”

Then there's silence. Kaworu is looking up at something and Shinji is still burning holes into the floor with his eyes. The air smells of gentle spice.

“What would you like?” Kaworu asks.

“U-uh.”

“I'm getting chai latte.”

“Ohh.”

“Mm-hm.”

Silence, again.

“Have you looked at the menu?”

Shinji's gaze bolts upward and he does, indeed, see a menu written on a simple chalk board. When he tries to read it, though, he doesn't comprehend any of its contents. Unfortunately, he had never been one to learn the language of caffeinated drinks.

“I'll have whatever.” he croaks, and Kaworu nods, approaching the counter with a smile.

Shinji is left to stand alone in what he deems to be a strange environment full of warm air and nice smells. He stares at the back of Kaworu's head, and it finally occurs to him where he even is.

When the taller boy pads over to a table, Shinji follows meekly, shuffling in his steps.

“Why are we here?” he asks finally.

Kaworu pulls his sleeves over his hands. “You said you were cold.”

“Yeah, but...”

“This place opens early, and I know for a fact that it's warm.”

Shinji feels like he's two inches tall. “But...” he stammers again.

“Is something wrong?” Kaworu inquires, sitting down and peering upwards in concern. His arms are crossed on the metal table, and he appears to feel perfectly at home.

“Er, no.” Shinji mumbles, stumbling into his own seat across from Kaworu. “I-I mean, I was kind of under the impression that I was just walking with you to your house to make sure you were okay, and...”

“That was the plan, but this sounded nice.” Kaworu says, crossing his legs. “Besides, I'm fine, and I knew I would be. I just wanted some company.”

“Oh.”

Then the quiet reigns again. Shinji thinks it's weird to not see Kaworu in a white room. He stares at him, and the pale boy seems to not care, because after a moment he yawns and half his fringe falls over his face. Machinery can be heard from the depths of the establishment, and brew can be smelled from just a tiny whiff of the air. It's quite nice, actually. Relaxing. Maybe Shinji should come to places like this more often.

Kaworu kicks his shin under the table to get his attention.

“What do you think the story behind tea is?”

“Wha?”

Kaworu looks at the ceiling, blinking twice. “I mean, do you think one day someone just looked at a plant and said, _'that one, that one is a good one'_ and then boiled it? Was it because it smelled nice?”

“I've never really thought about it.”

“Neither have I. Doesn't it seem a bit odd to you, though?”

“I guess it does. But things like that can describe basically everything. I mean, what's the story behind anything?”

Someone walks into the shop, disturbing the gentle atmosphere and ringing out the noisy bell. Shinji adjusts in his seat. Before Kaworu can reply, two steaming cups are brought before them, smelling like warmth and a bit like rain.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks.”

Kaworu stares into his tea. Shinji, without thinking, takes a sip and instantly regrets it, feeling a slew of boiling water fall onto the surface of his tongue. He slams the cup back onto the table and quickly sucks in air, but it doesn't help that the air of the building is warmer than home should be. His tongue can no longer taste anything, and he has tiny tears forming in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Kaworu hurries.

At the blank, red-faced look Shinji gives him, he blinks and begins to smile. Then, he giggles.

Shinji sniffs, frowning and wiping his eyes. “Thtop laughing... You're mean.”

“Sorry, sorry. Wait for it to cool.”

O

After an admittedly delicious cup of tea, the cold of the streets does not seem nearly as evil to Shinji. In fact, he thinks it feels a bit like walking out of a fresh bath.

The streets are now a flood of chatter and briefcases, what with the amount of people who bustle around at eight in the morning for their jobs. Shinji has vowed to never be one of those people, even if it costs him any sort of food. … Of course, this is horribly unrealistic, and in reality it's just that he would rather loaf around at home than work a nine-to-five shift. Despite this, he feels rather at ease in the crowd, modeling after Kaworu who is unfazed just like he is to everything else.

It's at this point when Shinji is faced with another weird philosophical inquiry, courtesy of his pale friend.

“Do you ever wonder why people form crowds?” Kaworu asks, somehow talking over all the noise without necessarily shouting. He's stepping on every crunchy leaf he sees.

“No, not really.” Shinji replies. Then it's quiet, and he thinks about it. “I mean, it's sort of a given that when a lot of people have to be in a certain place at the same time that they'd all be there at once. I don't really think it's out of the ordinary.”

Kaworu sniffs. “I suppose. But what makes this place somewhere where many will gather?”

“It's a city.”

“Why are cities so populous?”

“Because... because they just are.” Shinji stares at the back of Kaworu's head, wondering what on Earth is happening inside it. “Why are you asking?”

A man in a suit passes, jostling Shinji's shoulder and scrambling away.

“Because it's uncomfortable. Do other people find this comfortable?” Kaworu muses.

Shinji blinks. “I don't know. Maybe they do.” he says, even though he really can't imagine anyone loving a crowd.

“I only ever come here in the evening.” Kaworu says. “It's a bit of a walk from where I live.”

“How far do you live?”

Kaworu pauses. He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt to pop his joints. Then, he furrows his eyebrows. “... I'm not entirely sure.”

“What?” Shinji says, realizing, paling. His eyes become wider than those of an owl. A surplus of scenarios fly through his head, from, _'Oh my god, Kaworu is homeless!'_ all the way to, _'Did he seriously forget where he lives? … Wait, that wouldn't make any sense, because--'_

“No, no!” Kaworu pipes, facing Shinji now and waving his hands around. He grimaces at the face the shorter boy is making, which embarrasses him quite a lot despite being so hilarious. “I think you misunderstood. It's just that...”

Shinji shuts his mouth, which he now realizes had been wide open. Kaworu swallows, and Shinji begins to worry a tiny bit.

“What is it?”

Kaworu looks at the ground, then looks upward, resembling a kicked puppy.

“I... get lost very easily.”

“You... you what?”

“I get lost. Easily.”

“... Kaworu, that's nothing bad--”

“No, you don't understand.” Kaworu mutters, stoic. “At one point, I ended up at the beach.”

Shinji quirks an eyebrow. “You're kidding me. That's three hours on foot.”

“I'm afraid it's true.”

“How old were you?” he inquires, picturing a tiny Kaworu all by himself, wibbling and whining on a cold, desolate shore. Maybe he'd be wearing overalls. For some reason, he can't help but picture little Kaworu in overalls. The image is equally as adorable as it is heartbreaking.

“It was about a week before I met you.”

Silence.

A woman who passes cries something about pork chops into her phone, and a dog out for an early stroll stops to pee on a fire hydrant.

“So are you saying...” Shinji breathes. “That you're lost?”

“No!” Kaworu yelps.

More silence.

A line of sticky preschoolers holding onto a rope skips along, and a man enters a port-o-potty.

“... Yes.”

O

Kaworu confesses later that he had quite literally been walking in circles around a single group of buildings, and Shinji has a difficult time confessing to himself that he had been too out of it to notice.

“Well...” Shinji murmurs. They're sitting on a concrete bench, watching all the people clamor and chatter by. It's sort of amusing to see a person when they think no one is watching them, but at the same time it's rather intrusive to look in the first place, so Shinji tries not to watch excessively. “Let's start with something easy. What side of town are you on?” he asks, with the patience of a saint. Never would he have been so patient with anyone a few months prior, he thinks.

“Um... northern, I think.”

“You think?”

“Could be southern.”

“Those are opposites.”

Kaworu begins to sulk, looking at his knees and hunching his shoulders in guilt. Shinji sighs.

“Either way, we'll find it.” he states, matter-of-fact. “It's really weird that you don't even know where you live, though. Are you sure you're okay?”

Looking up, Kaworu blinks slowly. “I'm sure.”

“Well, alright, then.” Shinji nods.

Then they just sit there, Shinji again trying not to stare at people and Kaworu looking at something across the way that could be anything but probably isn't particularly interesting.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” Shinji blinks, eyeing Kaworu sidelong.

“Thank you for all you've done for me.”

Shinji's gaze flies to the ground, and he clenches his hands into fists. His nails begin to leave tiny half-moons in the skin of his palms. He gulps, audibly, and sort of feels moisture gather above his eyebrow. He doesn't know why, but that had caught him off guard.

Kaworu just smiles at him, effortless.

O

“And then, and then he called the fire department, and I was in hysterics because my poor purple brownies didn't do anything wrong, they just wanted to be eaten, and--”

“Look.” Shinji interrupts his friend's thrilling story about his attempts in the kitchen to point a finger to their near left.

“What? What is it?” Kaworu asks, following the gesture. He stands on his toes to see what Shinji is indicating to even though he really doesn't need to.

“I didn't think we'd find something like this.” Shinji murmurs.

“Oh!” Kaworu beams, his eyes glittering in elation. “Aaaahh...!” he breathes, bouncing on his feet, glances shifting sporadically between Shinji and his object of excitement.

“... You can go over there, Kaworu.”

“Okay!” he chirps, embarking on an odd, excited jog over to a murky pond filled with awkward waddling waterfowl. Shinji follows, feeling decades older than he actually is.

Kaworu crouches down, enthusiastic, but he keeps his distance from the pond, wrapping his arms around his knees and watching a line of young and old ducks swim in what looks like a figure-eight. Shinji stands behind him, watching the same display with much less enthusiasm.

“I wish we had some bread.” Kaworu remarks from his lower perch. He squirms backward on his bent legs, craning his neck to look up at Shinji.

“I heard that was bad for them, actually.”

Kaworu looks back at the way the birds wiggle their legs underwater. “How is it bad for them?”

“It's not very nutritious for them.”

“Oh.”

Shinji pockets his hands, unsure if he's watching the ducks or if he's watching Kaworu. Either way, he's amused, but he doesn't show as much, because that would just be embarrassing. ...Actually, a lot of things have been embarrassing lately. Weird.

Kaworu sniffs and looks up again, smiling innocently and patting the grass next to him. Shinji furrows his eyebrows, but after a hesitant moment he too crouches down, sitting with his legs crossed and his eyes poised into the water.

“What's your best duck noise?” Kaworu asks after a moment.

“... You have got to be kidding me.”

Kaworu shakes his head. An adult duck lets loose a scrawny, scraggly quack, and one of the younger ones creates something akin to a squeak. The water smells a bit like dirt.

“I'm not going to quack. That's humiliating.”

Kaworu licks his lips, letting his legs fully rest on the ground. He's quiet for a moment, and then...

“... Mreh.”

As if on cue, a duckling pauses in its swim and looks at Kaworu like he has six heads, rippling the water as it drifts and blinks its tiny eyes. Shinji, too, slowly turns, unsure of what exactly just happened. He parts his lips and scrunches up his nose, and Kaworu just keeps smiling at the water.

“That... what was that.” Shinji blurts, pronouncing it like a statement rather than a question.

“That was my best duck sound.”

“That wasn't anything like a quack.”

Kaworu shrugs. He rocks left and right, not really caring that the grass is moist and so likewise is the seat of his jeans. Shinji looks back at the water. He finds that he reminds himself of a duckling, sometimes.

A breeze swipes through the air, and Shinji holds his arms, shivering quietly.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Noon, perhaps. I don't know.”

Shinji scratches his collarbone. “That means we've been walking around for seven hours.” he says after doing the math. A duck dips itself underwater, flailing around and wringing out its feathers.

“Does that bother you?” Kaworu asks.

Shinji sniffs. “... It was just unexpected, but if you need help, then I don't mind.” he says. The huddle of ducks exit the pond, and they begin waddling in an organized line. Wind ruffles the area once again. Shinji and Kaworu are both rather ignorant to the constant bustle behind them. A cloud passes over the sun.

“I still want to hear your duck impression.”

“Ha ha, no.”

“... Mreeeeehh.” Kaworu whines in his very own duck-dialect, rolling his neck to stare at Shinji incredulously. The beams of the sun reappear.

Shinji sighs. The ducks waddle away.

“It's a shame, I was hoping I'd get to pet one.” Kaworu muses.

“You thought you could pet a wild duck?”

“Is that so ridiculous? They seemed nice enough.”

Shinji bites his lip. “It's not a matter of being nice, it's a matter of being scared.”

Once again, he reminds himself of a duckling.

It's quiet, but for a plane passing overhead.

Kaworu stares at his lap. Then, at his feet. For some reason, he counts his fingers, and realizes that he should trim his nails soon. Shinji is silent to his right. The plane is far gone.

Kaworu then puts his hands at his side and haphazardly digs his fingers into the soil beneath the grass. He cloaks himself in what he's sure is pure, unmistakable nonchalance and wiggles himself, almost in a squirm or a nudge to his right, and then he stops. Ironically, he sort of feels like he's trying not to alarm a wild animal. Shinji is completely oblivious. In fact, he's picking blades of grass and tossing them to the side, breathing evenly and appearing to be somewhere else entirely.

Kaworu relaxes his muscles, and allows the side of his head to rest upon a flannel-clad shoulder.

Shinji, hypothetically, would have jumped about seven feet off the ground if he had the nerve to. His hands grip the fabric of his pants so tightly that they almost threaten to tear, and he swallows such a great lump of air that it nearly causes him to hyperventilate. He doesn't, though. He tries to appear unfazed and continues gazing into the swampy pond. His eyes flicker, though, and soon he's ambling through a cycle of staring at his hands, to his feet, to his knees, and back to the water.

Kaworu adjusts, leaning fully onto the other boy's side. He's comfortable, but he has to admit that his heart is working hard, harder than it usually does and that is something highly unusual for him, and, well, flannel is quite warm and so is another person to begin with, but--

Shinji twitches. They both realize that the dark-haired boy's hands are shaking as they squeeze the denim of his pants, and suddenly Kaworu feels guilty while Shinji simultaneously feels humiliated. The pale boy can't bring himself to get up, though. He feels as though he's entered a room of wild, confusing colors and the door has locked behind him. A skating bug glides across the surface of the empty pond.

The shy boy doesn't quite hate everything about this, though. No, really, the only thing he remotely dislikes about it is the fact that he cannot in any way seem to calm down. Not his mind, and most certainly not his body, as his heart is running laps and his back is getting quite sweaty despite the chill in the air. Speaking of the chill, it's more or less nonexistent now.

Rather, now he's shivering for a different reason, and that reason is the combination of nervousness and the sensation of Kaworu's hair, which was already excellently fluffy by his standards, sort of kind of brushing his neck, and it literally sends a tingle down his spine that he wants to kill with fire every time the pale boy moves in the slightest bit, and the cold is gone, and the warm is here, and he can't stop thinking about who knows what and birds are screaming about something and there's the jingle of an ice cream truck somewhere, and, and...!

He can hardly breathe, and that makes him hate himself but it makes him like Kaworu.

“You're nice.” Kaworu says.

“O-oh?”

“Mm-hm. You're very sweet.”

Shinji really really wants to sob for some reason. Kaworu shuts his eyes and he sighs, and Shinji tells himself rather vehemently that the other boy's breath is definitely not softer than his hair, and wow, does he want to punch himself in the face or what for thinking all this stuff, but... but maybe not. Maybe he's... okay.

“I'm sleepy.” Kaworu murmurs. “We've been wandering around so long. It tires one out, doesn't it?”

Shinji's pupils are shaking as he glares holes into his knees. He swallows the dam in his throat, yet he still can't speak. It's quiet for a few moments.

“Ka-Kaworu...” he chokes.

“Hm?”

“We, um... we forgot your piano.”

“.............”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... But so I can deliver the last piece to you.
> 
> O
> 
> Thank you for the ducks, you know who you are, you beautiful soul. My soundtrack for writing this chapter was everywhere, man. I like boys cuddling I like it a lot sssshhhhh let these boys cuddle.


	8. Jugglin' Peanuts

“Does... does that mean we have to go all the way back and get it?” Kaworu murmurs.

Shinji squirms. Kaworu still has not risen from his groggy perch upon his shoulder.

“If you want to take it home with you, yeah.”

It slowly occurs to the brunet that he really wants Kaworu to take the instrument home with him. He blinks at the pond. A small ripple blinks back at him.

“... I might.” Kaworu says, and it's blatantly obvious that that's his way of saying _'yes, definitely, but I'm a little too embarrassed to admit it'_. Shinji, too, feels embarrassment, but his is in the form of a relief that he thinks really should not be a relief.

Honestly, why should it matter to him? True, he had spent money on the thing and it would be a little saddening to let it go to waste, but he's not exactly one to care about frugal matters such as that, considering he's willing to shower another boy in expensive flowers. Still, he feels happy.

Then that happiness blooms into mortification as Kaworu inches closer still. “Can we?”

“Uh-huh.” Shinji breathes, gasping, not really registering that he had replied.

“I don't want to keep you terribly long.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Kaworu breathes in, and he breathes out. His breaths are far easier than Shinji's.

“Are you comfortable right now?” Kaworu asks, now feeling the jagged threads of flannel upon his cheek, which had previously been unnoticeable.

At this inquiry, Shinji halts the incoherent shrieking of his inner voice. He tries not to tighten his shoulders in fear of scaring Kaworu off, while simultaneously trying not to worry about why he's afraid of scaring the boy in the first place. Shinji's hands, which would be shaking horribly if they weren't pressed excruciatingly into his lap, clasp each other tightly.

“E-er...” he utters, beginning to freeze. At least he's not cold, at least he's not cold. “Um... n-no, no.”

Kaworu jolts and begins to get up.

“Yeah! Yes, I mean.” Shinji cries. Kaworu blinks, face a concoction of worry and disappointment. “O-oh, I don't know...”

Kaworu simpers. Shinji sucks in a puff of air.

“I really, really don't know.”

 

O

 

“How do you do that?”

Kaworu pauses at the inquiry. “Do what?”

Shinji, with a bit of a jealous frown on his face, points to the piano poised effortlessly in Kaworu's arms. “That. How in the heck do you get a piano through a crowd like that so easily? When I brought it to you I was hitting everyone with it.”

Kaworu shifts the instruments weight and looks down at the miniscule scratches marring its surface. He doesn't say anything for a moment. Shinji glares at the piano's ivory keys in particular, and he's not really sure why.

“Well, I suppose--” Kaworu begins, but he's interrupted by a middle-aged man with a briefcase bumping into his shoulder and apologizing. Kaworu grins. “I suppose it's easier when you're not so nervous about it.” he says, walking again. “But then again, you still have to pay attention. I don't know, really. It's automatic. Why do you ask?”

Shinji follows. His gaze floats from the washed out concrete below them to the graying sky above them. The sun is an eerie glow behind a cloak of clouds.

“I don't know. I guess I'm just not as composed as you.”

Kaworu glances to the side. “You think I'm composed?”

Shinji flares his nostrils. “Well, yeah.” Of course I do, he thinks. You're still happy as can be after wilting away in a room for months. If I were you, I'd probably be a slug, or some other moist, anticlimactic creature right now.

“I've never really considered that about myself.” Kaworu muses. “I'll have to think about it.”

Shinji shrugs his shoulders at nothing. They continue on their trek, not really sure where they're going but at least heading somewhat back to where they had been.

“So you don't know your address or anything?” Shinji asks.

“Ahaha, no.” Kaworu says. “It never occurred to me that the place where I live even had an address.”

“... Huh?”

Before Shinji can ask about the brand new elephant that just waltzed into the room, a deep, booming rumble comes from the sky. They both look up only to be met with the same old gargantuan gray mass. However, Kaworu is soon surprised to feel a tiny, cold droplet land on his upper lip.

“Oh, no.” he says.

“What's wrong?”

“It's going to rain.”

“Oh, no.”

They both continue to stare at the sky. The sky stares back at them, and it laughs at them with another roll of thunder. Shinji, too, is hit by a droplet, directly upon the tip of his nose.

“Looks like...” Kaworu begins, and he looks at Shinji sidelong. “... it's about to _rain on our parade._ ”

“Oh my god.”

 

O

 

“I have to!”

“Oh, let me do it!”

“Then you'll be cold!”

“But you're already freezing!” Shinji cries. Kaworu is currently leaning forward and sprinting along with the shorter boy, his entire torso shielding the piano from pouring rain. Not only that, but his green sweater is draped over the instrument's surface, already soaked through but still doing its job quite nicely.

Shinji, huffing, darts near the other boy, holding the other half of the piano and leaning over it as well. “We look so stupid!” he shouts, agonized, over the rain. The streets are empty now, but for a few people running with jackets over their heads. Kaworu is struggling to see, what with his now soggy fringe draped completely over his eyes. All the same, he smiles a little bit.

And so they run, looking like a pair of idiots but at least looking like a happy pair of idiots.

 

O

 

“It's okay?”

“It's okay.” Kaworu confirms.

They had eventually found an awning that wasn't overflowing with people already and had taken refuge under it. Kaworu, soaked to the bone, had immediately set the piano on the ground and began inspecting it for water.

“It's just the very edges of it, but the keys and everything else are fine.” he says. Then, he cranes his head to look at Shinji. “Is it alright with you if we wait under here until the rain lets up?”

“Sure.”

Rivers flow through the street, and a boom of thunder makes the ground stutter.

Kaworu stands. He sidles up to Shinji, who is near the edge of the awning and looking up at the sky.

“I'm sorry you're cold.” Kaworu says. Shinji blinks and looks at the other boy owlishly.

“Why are you apologizing for what the sky did?”

“... I don't know.”

Quiet reigns.

“Well, you're cold, too, so you have nothing to feel bad about.” Shinji supplies.

Kaworu shrugs. His undershirt is nearly transparent. Shinji's flannel, on the other hand, is basically a twenty-pound dishrag.

Kaworu breathes before he speaks. “You know.”

“Hm?”

“One day...” he trails off. Shinji blinks and glances at him, before darting his gaze back to the sky.

“One day?”

Kaworu swallows audibly. “One day... I'll give you an entire garden's worth of orange flowers. You'll be so overtaken by allergies that you'll need to go to the hospital. And then, I'll get you even more.”

“Wha...” Shinji balks. His mouth stays open as he gives Kaworu an astonished stare, complete with a trademark raised eyebrow. Kaworu's eyes slide to the side, but he doesn't turn his head. There are tiny dewdrops clinging to his eyelashes. He's still smiling. Shinji pretends to cough, loudly and dramatically. His face melts into such a hot, flustered shade that he could probably boil all the water in the street. He can't bring himself to even look at the other boy.

“Do you know what the meaning of an orange flower is?”

“Hhh-n-no uh--”

“Neither do I. But I bet it means something beautiful. Either way, it means something to me, and that's all that matters, right?”

“Rrrr _rriiiight_.”

“... Am I embarrassing you? I'm sorry.”

Before Shinji can reply and/or begin to dry-heave, a shiny, black car with millions and millions of bugs crushed into its windshield skates up to the curb nearest them, coming far too close to spraying them both with muddy water from the road-river. It creates a comical screeching sound, and Shinji would have fallen onto his backside if not for Kaworu's fingers pinching his soggy sleeve.

The passenger window of the slick car rolls down with a creak. Inside, a large person, who appears to be wearing monstrous shoulder pads and a horrifying, blank expression, leans toward the open window.

“Oh, Sachiel! Thank goodness!”

“Ssssskkrrreeaa _aAAAACH_!!”

 

O

 

“So, we more or less live on opposite ends of town.” Kaworu says. Shinji's teeth are chattering, but he nods.

They're forced to sit so close together that their knees are knocking together. Kaworu doesn't mind, while Shinji is too busy being cold to notice. In fact, they're both rather focused on not letting their soaked pants squeak against the leather backseats of Sachiel's car.

“That's a left.” Kaworu says to the driver, who takes a dangerously sharp right. “I'm sorry, he's a horrible driver.”

Shinji just shakes his head. When they hit a red light, the brakes are hit with such force that Shinji knocks his forehead against the back of the passenger seat. Throughout all this, though, he pities Kaworu, who was shoved in the middle of the back, next to a pile of cardboard boxes and his own soaking body. As luck would have it, Sachiel had been, supposedly, helping a friend move some boxes, and so his entire passenger seat and half the back were completely filled to the brim with them. So here they are, cramped, with Kaworu, the directional genius, speaking Shinji's quiet directions to Sachiel who seems to always do exactly the opposite of what he is told. At this rate, Shinji is better off swimming home down the road river.

“So he knows where you live?” Shinji asks, in order to fill the silence that wasn't already taken by the windshield wipers.

“Oh, yeah.” Kaworu says, licking his chapped lips. “Although I can never get the address out of him.”

“And he's your... brother.”

Sachiel rotates his face... _thing_ exactly three-hundred-sixty degrees out of what appears to be mere habit.

“Mm-hm.”

The rest of the ride is quiet but for the beeping of the turn signal and the squelching of the wipers. After ten minutes of near death experiences, they embark upon the road near Shinji's run-down suburbian neighborhood, and it's at this point that he starts to feel a little bit embarrassed. He swallows and is suddenly very conscious of Kaworu's near presence. It had never really occurred to him just how small of a shack he resided in... how embarrassing. He needs to find a way out of this...

“You can let me out here, I'll find my way.” he blurts. As if to worsen his metaphorical death sentence, a branch of lightning cracks the sky at this precise moment. Rain is pounding so hard on the windshield that it might just be near breaking it.

Kaworu gives Shinji an incredulous look. His head is turned, and Shinji can't look back at him because then their faces would be far too close, so he merely focuses on his own feet and hopes to whatever mighty deity there is that he won't be questioned. Of course, it's also a possibility that there is, in fact, no mighty deity. Or perhaps there's one that just really, really hates him.

“We haven't even entered the neighborhood.” Kaworu says, and as if on cue, they take a screeching right turn into his decrepit apartment complex. “You can't possibly run through all that rain. Honestly, it's no trouble.”

Shinji swallows. His fingers tangle with each other, and he feels sweat begin to bead above his brow, mixing with the moisture of the rain. The sky isn't quite orange.

“Parking will be hard.” he supplies weakly. There is no reply, because the other two residents of the vehicle are too busy staring at the literal surplus of empty parking spaces in their vicinity. Kaworu makes a noncommittal sound. Sachiel makes a demonic sound.

The dark-haired boy sucks in a deep breath. His arms are positively glued to his sides...

What he does next, he doesn't grant an appropriate amount of thought. His right hand, drenched in both cold sweat and polluted rain, stumbles for the latch of the door, and soon it's open and there's rain and wind pouring into the vehicle. He unlatches his seatbelt, and in the most dramatic fashion he can manage, leaps from the car, rolling onto the sidewalk and into a bush. It doesn't help his pride that he makes a wheezing sound when he does so, nor does it aid in his escape when Kaworu calls for him from the car.

Shinji is quick on his feet, though. He scrambles to half his height so as to not be seen in the tumultuous storm, and with the slickness of a secret agent, he fades into the night.

Let it be known that Shinji Ikari is one to protect what little he has of his pride, even if it involves setting the entirety of it aflame in the process. When he enters his little room, soaked, he falls into bed, cocooning himself in his ratty duvet and sniffling into his sheets.

 

O

 

Waking up from this specific accidental sleep is quite possibly the most unpleasant thing that Shinji has ever done.

As he lifts his face from its plastered state in his mattress, he stares dimly at the off white of his wall. He sniffs, and realizes that the fringe of his hair is still soaked, while the rest of it is only damp. Licking his dry lips is an unpleasant task, almost as unpleasant as moving his limbs within the freezing, moist confines of his flannel shirt. Without thinking, he sits up and throws the garment over his head, glaring at it as it hits his wall. A shower sounds absolutely heavenly.

However, before he can even stand, he jolts at an abrupt pounding at his door. His head whips around, and through the window he sees that it's dark out. In his neighborhood, a knock at the door at such an hour is nothing short of terrifying... that is, until he hears the lazy, casual greeting of his landlord.

“Heeeyyy!”

For a while, Shinji just stares at his doorknob. Then, slowly, he drops his feet over the edge of the bed and stands, scratching at his lower back and shuffling to the door. Unlatching the chain, he yawns loudly and pulls the door inward.

“Hi, Touji.” he says, still in the middle of his yawn, before even setting eyes on the guy.

“Ikari, my man!”

Shinji makes some kind of sleepy sound before shaking his head and blinking at his landlord. “What time is it?”

“S'like... midnight.” Touji says, and before Shinji's eyes have the chance to bulge out of his head, a loud smack reverberates off his walls as Touji claps the palms of his hands onto Shinji's bare shoulders. “But more importantly...”

Shinji blinks, incredulous.

“How come ya never told me y'took the other bus?”

“I... what?”

Touji claps his hands on Shinji's shoulders again, probably in his own effort of emphasis.

“You know what I mean! Swingin' _that_ way, the other side o'the street, pitchin', catchin', jugglin' peanuts, the other end o'the sandwich, the famous butt-butt circus--”

“Please. Please, stop talking.”

“Ha! I knew it, your face, man, your face!”

“I... I don't know what you're talking about.” Shinji mutters, glaring at his landlord in vexation. Touji smacks his shoulders again.

“Well.” he says. Shinji blinks, slowly. “I mean...”

“Well, what?”

“I guess I'll just...” Touji says, drawing his hands back and looking at the ground. “Take these...” he says, and Shinji finally looks down to see a brightly colored vase of... of orange flowers. Oh, oh dear. “Back.” Touji finishes, grabbing the vase. “Must'a been a mistake, maybe there's some other _not single_ Shinji Ikari in this neck o'the woods, man--”

The vase is ripped from his hands, and after a split second of confusion, an absolutely infuriating grin stretches across Touji's face, right before the door is slammed in his face.

“Heh.”

 

O

 

Shinji stares at the flowers. Then, he stares at them some more. He's not sure what kind they are... just that they're flowers, and they're on his end table, and they're orange, and they look like they're smiling.

He pokes one. If he had been expecting it to do a trick, he's sorely disappointed. It seems to gaze back at him innocently. Shinji bites his lip and crosses his arms, still staring at the poor plant.

The other bus... god. He shakes his head. Then, in a fit of odd bravery, he unravels his arms and cups his hands around the vase. He stares at it, as if he and the flowers are experiencing a romantic embrace. The moment is soon ruined, though, because with robotic swiftness he lifts the vase in the air, rattling the flowers within. He holds it up, much like one would a lion cub over the African savannah. It's still.

Then, he lowers it, so that he can look at it properly. He squints, examining the vibrant flowers, before a scrap of paper detaches from the bottom of the base and flutters onto his foot. Shinji blinks, looking down at the scrap of paper that looks back at him with a little piece of folded tape. Gingerly, he sets the flowers on the table again, before bending down to retrieve the paper. In his hand, he flips it, and his face is suddenly alight with red at the sight of Kaworu's curly penmanship.

_“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I hope these will mend things between us. PS, your landlord showed me which apartment is yours... Please, shut your blinds, and tell him to stop doing that for guests without your permission. It can be dangerous.”_

Shinji's nails dig into the paper. His eyes pierce it with such force that it may as well burn... but it doesn't, and that sort of makes him mad, and so with a choked sound, he crumbles it in his hands and throws it to the floor. He then stomps across the small expanse of his room in order to snap his blinds shut with the force of a hurricane. Then, he huffs and puffs, waiting for steam to stop flowing from his ears.

A gentle tapping on the ceiling lets him know that it has started raining again. After a moment, his shoulders sag, and he's staring at his carpet. Crickets are chirping outside. He curls his toes into the carpet before turning slowly and gazing at the flowers that never cease to gaze back at him. His hands turn to fists, and then they loosen.

At a lagging pace, he shuffles across the floor until he's before the crumpled paper again. Swallowing, he drops to his knees, and picks up the wrinkled white mass. Gently, he straightens it with a sharp crinkle. His eyebrows furrow. Yes, there's the note. That had been embarrassing, but, but...

Had he failed to mention that there's a phone number at the bottom?

Fishing through his damp pocket, he retrieves his phone, which had sustained no harm from the storm. His eyes rove from the slip of paper to the black screen of his phone. He taps the screen, and it lights up. His hands are shaking, his heart is pounding. The contact page opens. He stares at it, then at the paper, then back at it.

Shinji enters a K. Then, he deletes it. He swallows audibly. He enters the K again, and for some reason he feels like he's stuttering in an actual conversation. Next comes the A. Then the W, and so on, and by the end of Kaworu's name Shinji feels as though he's run a marathon. Then, with much less difficulty, he enters the phone number.

The tapping on the ceiling grows louder. He decides to send a message. Of their own will, his fingers begin to type.

 _“Thank you for the...”_ he deletes it.

 _“Why did you...”_ Delete.

 _“I'm sorry about my...”_ Delete.

 _“Hi.”_ Send. How eloquent.

Shinji waits, and after a while the waiting seems so long that he proceeds to lie on the floor. He stares at the screen of his phone. Then, after who knows how long, it vibrates and glows.

_“It's late. Who is this?”_

Shinji turns on his side and draws his knees to his chest. The carpet is beginning to leave a mark on his cheek. He stares at his bitten nails atop his phone before he begins to type.

_“Did I wake you up?”_

_“No. But who is this?”_

_“Thank you for the flowers.”_

Sadly, it's impossible to blush through a text message, because otherwise, Shinji would be doing so right then. The wait after this message is considerably longer.

However, it's over eventually.

_“You're welcome. They're chrysanthemums.”_

Despite himself, Shinji smiles a little bit. He idly rubs his thumbs along the edges of his phone, before drawing his knees closer to himself. Silently, he sighs.

His phone vibrates again.

_“Are you alright?”_

Shinji's smile falls a little bit.

_“Yeah. Why?”_

Quiet. Then, a vibration.

_“You jumped out of a moving car.”_

Oh, yeah. He had done that, hadn't he. Shinji's smile fades a bit. Thoughtfully, he looks at the wall. Then, back at the phone. He had done so to keep Kaworu from seeing where he lives, but... despite this, he had seen his apartment eventually, while the window was wide open, to boot.

 _“I'm sorry about that.”_ he types.

_“Normally when one leaps from a car they have a good reason to and don't need to apologize. But I won't pry.”_

Shinji's smile springs to life again. His eyes sort of melt when they close, and he moves his shoulder just a bit.

_“Good.”_

It's silent for a while, and Shinji thinks that the conversation is over. However, his phone proceeds to vibrate again.

_“I sort of miss the hospital.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because of all the flowers.”_

Shinji's eyes move from his phone to the table. He can't see the chrysanthemums at his current height, but he knows they're there. He begins to type.

_“Sorry.”_

_“Don't apologize. You're the reason it was nice in the first place.”_

_“Don't tell me not to apologize.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“It's okay.”_

The room is hushed but for the tapping of rain and the chirping of crickets. Shinji stares at his phone for longer than what is considered normal, and after a while, he lazily shuts his eyes and lets his arm fall limp on the floor. Really, he needs to get his life together... here he is, on the floor of a run-down studio apartment getting angry at flowers and feeling like he's on top of the world just because he's texting some guy who was smart enough to his his head on a lamppost. Then again, he thinks, naïve to the fact that he's drifting off again, maybe life is more fun when it's not together. Maybe it's beneficial, once in a while, to enjoy a burst of spontaneity.

His phone vibrates again.

_“Good night.”_

Shinji's eyes are beginning to burn from the brightness of his screen. He rubs the side of the phone with his thumb.

 _“Good night.”_ he sends.

Then he stares. Then, he gets on his knees, and grabs the crinkled paper from the floor. He waddles at half his height to his tiny fridge, and with a plastic W magnet (he had invested in an entire alphabetical set), he sticks the note to his fridge.

Shinji can't bring himself to stand. No, instead, he waddles on his knees back over to his bed, and with a crack of his joints, hops back into his duvet. It's not an unusual thing for him to do, but for the rest of the night, such a simple action holds a moderate amount of significance. As he falls asleep, his phone is cupped in his limp hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Like a gently falling rain.
> 
> Ahahaha. Gentle.


	9. Four-Twenty Not Really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. I really don't know.

And so life goes on.

Everything is, while not necessarily as it should be, back to what it had been. Shinji is as unassuming as ever, working a miserable part-time job and drowning in an educational debt he hardly takes advantage of, while Kaworu is... well, actually, it's rather a mystery what Kaworu is doing. Either way, coffee in the morning is still the best, even if Shinji's face when he drinks it is sour enough to dissolve a mint. It doesn't taste very good, but somehow, it's still the best. He's about to throw his mug into the sink when there's a sharp jab at his door. Then another, this one within a series of rapid successions. And then, quiet.

Suspicious, Shinji, rather than throwing it as he had originally planned, gingerly places his mug into the porcelain of his sink. Then, he toes over to the window, and with his middle and index finger, parts two of the blinds and squints an observing eye.

His vision turns all yellow.

Shinji blinks in surprise and stumbles back, placing his hand upon the arm of a nearby chair. He swallows, and in a panic, his gaze takes flight across his studio apartment to survey just how embarrassing it would be if he were to open the door right then. Because, of course, Kaworu is standing outside his door in a ridiculous, bright yellow raincoat with gargantuan boots and a hat to match. Huffing, Shinji approaches the window again, peering through the same crack. Kaworu is, as expected, still there, wearing a small smile as he stares at Shinji's door. He's holding something, but at this angle Shinji can't see what it is.

His place isn't horribly messy... but, it's still pretty messy. He kicks a few articles of sweaty clothing underneath his equally sweaty bed and sidles up to the door, heart racing, heart racing... and he opens the door, and Kaworu isn't there.

No, instead, he's leaving, and is approximately thirteen feet away from the door, hands stuffed into his huge, rubbery yellow pockets. Shinji, well, Shinji just sort of stares at his retreating back, and in his blind panic he begins to dive into an irrational episode.

_You're just going to forget about me._

Ah, the time comes. The time he knew was coming. He doesn't bother calling out to Kaworu. Rather, his gaze falls to the balding grass at his feet, and his hands relax, becoming limp-- and then there's a continuous vibration coming from the pocket of his pajama bottoms. _Oh, god, I'm still wearing pajamas--_

Shinji juggles his phone from his pocket, before slamming it onto his right ear.

“H-hello?”

“Good morning.” says a hushed voice, and despite being hushed it's really loud, and then he realizes that it's because the person he's talking to is still directly in his line of sight.

“Haha... um.”

“What is it?”

“I-I can see you.” Shinji says with a crooked, shaky smile.

“Ah--” Kaworu stops walking. He turns his head to peer over his shoulder, blinking the daylight out of his eyes. His arm drops to his side and he pockets his phone, before grinning and jogging up to the other boy. Shinji takes a step back. “I thought you weren't home.” Kaworu says as he slows his run. Shinji's hands find each other and he looks down at his collar bone.

“Sorry.”

Kaworu rocks on his heels. “It's alright. I'm sorry for not considering how early it was, but...” he pauses, bending down to retrieve something he had supposedly left by the door.

“Oh, it's okay...” Shinji trails off. Kaworu is holding a bright purple pot that contrasts quite dramatically with his sunny outfit, and inside that pot is a gathering of tiny orange blossoms. “Oh.” Shinji breathes. “Er...”

“I don't know what they are.” Kaworu says, bouncing the pot in the air as he talks. “Even though I should, considering everything... The only reason I don't know is because I... er. Dug them up on the side of the street.”

Shinji looks at the other boy, deadpan. Kaworu begins to flounder.

“That... that just made me sound very strange. Okay, no, I was not... um.”

Shinji blinks and folds his arms. Kaworu looks like he wants to flail his hands around but can't due to the flora in his grasp.

“Honestly, it's not as weird as it sounds. I was on my way to visit you and I forgot to bring flowers... so, I was desperate.”

“Then where'd you get the pot?”

“... I stopped on the way.”

Shinji allows himself an amused half smile. “So, you stopped for a pot, but not for flowers.”

Kaworu purses his lips and flushes. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “U-uh, that's not the point here!” he hurries. “Well, yes, it is, but it's not all of it. Um, I was wondering, if you would like it if I, or, well, would you like to go...”

Shinji can't breathe. His eyes widen, and his entire body tightens...

“To the bank so I can pay you back for the piano.”

… before it's crushed by the fist of the deity that hates him so.

“You don't have to.” he forces out. Kaworu looks up from the ground, his arms wrapped firmly around the pot of flowers.

“But...”

“Honestly. It's the least I could do after making you hit your head.”

“That was by no means your fault.”

Shinji just stares at Kaworu for a while. Kaworu stares back, and after too long he furrows his eyebrows and gains a pink to his cheeks once again.

“Kaworu?”

“Yes?”

Shinji doesn't reply. Kaworu tilts his head the slightest bit. “What is it?”

“You look ready for a storm.” Shinji says simply. Kaworu parts his lips.

“It's supposed to rain again today.” he murmurs.

Shinji looks at the ground again. He licks his lips. “You really don't have to worry about paying me back, just...”

“Just?”

The dark-haired boy takes a deep breath. “Just, just you visiting like this is enough, so...” he chokes. Kaworu stares at the other boy with astonished eyes. Then, he smiles gently, setting the flowers at his feet again.

“Then, I'll keep visiting until you're satisfied.”

Shinji laughs a little, sheepish laugh. He still can't bring himself to look up, but he hears Kaworu moving... and then, Shinji feels something placed atop his head. He blinks, moving his hands to pat the crown of his head. Finally, his gaze lifts, only to see Kaworu with a new, static energy to his hair, sticking up in all directions. His hat is missing. Kaworu chuckles.

“You kept looking into the shade, so I thought you'd want some shelter over your head. … Also, you look very cute in a hat. Whoa.”

Shinji feels weak. He blinks his eyes slowly, like a cat, before bending down to hold the flowers in his own hands. They're still warm from where Kaworu had held them. Shinji stands to his full height again, and offers Kaworu a smile that is rather sunny, which is quite rare coming from him.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You're welcome.”

And so they talk for a while, and still, life goes on. Even when life is not a drawl, it's still beautiful, it's still a bud, a sprout of potential... It goes, and it never stops, especially when it's in motion. After all, life is not a rhythm, but an orchestra.

 

O

 

The next time Kaworu comes for a visit, Shinji is a lot more prepared. In fact, he's devised what he dubs a 'Kaworu System', which just involves actually getting dressed and showered in the morning, along with tidying his small space. Really, this 'Kaworu System' is what any other person would consider to be a normal function, but, well, Shinji is evidently too cool for that.

So, he does all of this, every day, on the off chance that Kaworu will pick that day to visit. It never really occurs to him why he does it, he just knows he has the urge to do it and so he does.

“Okay.” Kaworu says evenly. Shinji can't help but grin.

“Did you forget the flowers again?”

“No, actually.” Kaworu huffs, defensive. “They ran out.”

Shinji pauses. “... Stores can run out of flowers?”

“All the time!” Kaworu exclaims. He holds up what he had brought instead, which is a grocery bag filled with mysterious contents. Even his eyes are smiling as he speaks. “Can I come in?”

Shinji kind of twitches, but after a moment he nods anyway, backtracking into his little home and feeling rather like a hamster pushing around its wood chips. He turns on the space heater with his foot. “It's a little small, but you know that already.” he says, his back to the other boy. For some reason, he can't look at him.

“No, I think it's nice.”

Shinji laughs a single, bursting laugh. “You don't have to lie.” he says, hearing Kaworu sit on the bed. Shinji just sort of stares at his kitchen.

“I'm not lying. Really, it's like a vacation home.” Kaworu muses. Shinji finally looks over his shoulder to see the other boy staring at his first vase of flowers in thought. He pops a fist on top of his palm. “Or a cabin!”

Shinji breathes a dry breath. “Well, I'm glad you see it that way.” he says, giving in. Kaworu lights up in one of his bright smiles. Shinji sighs and looks at the floor. “What's in the bag?”

“Oh!”

The pale boy begins rustling through his grocery bag, parting its handles this way and that and creating a ratty, obnoxious sound. It's all worth it, though, because from the bag he produces yet another bag, this one a net filled with clementines. “I thought I ought to still get something orange. Want to share them?”

Shinji blinks at the little fruits. Then, he simpers, laughing under his breath. “Okay.” he acquiesces, padding over to the bed and stealing a clementine, before sitting on the floor with his back at the foot of his bed.

Kaworu proceeds to peel a fruit, and soon the room smells freshly of oranges. It's a little awkward for them both, just sitting around and eating, so Shinji decides to make what he considers small talk.

“Do you still get lost in town?”

Kaworu pauses and blinks twice, before rolling his shoulders. “Every time I visit, yes.”

Shinji chokes on a spray of orange juice. “Every time?”

“Every time and more.” Kaworu nods. “I was once in the mall, and I accidentally went into the women's restroom... they called me a pervert. Shinji, what's a pervert?”

Shinji swallows his slice, and grabs another clementine. “The fact that you don't know means you probably aren't one, Kaworu.” Shinji says, peeling the new fruit. He peers up at the other boy with glassy eyes. “If you get lost, why don't you tell me? I can give you directions.”

Kaworu looks back at him, the red of his eyes looking rather like wine in the dim lighting. “I could tell you I'm lost. But where's the fun in that?”

Shinji blinks at the other boy. Kaworu grins.

“You are so weird.”

“I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

“You should, it is one.”

And with that, they're quiet again, but for Kaworu's shoes rubbing on the carpet as he kicks his legs. There's still plenty of fruit left. The wind makes the walls creak.

“Seriously, what is a pervert?”

“Someone who looks at people a lot.”

“... I do look at people a lot, don't I.”

“Yeah, you're good at staring, but I'm about... uh, eighty percent sure you don't _look at people_ a lot.”

Kaworu furrows his eyebrows and parts his lips. “I don't understand.”

Shinji holds half a clementine in his palm. He rests the back of his head on the corner of the mattress, staring at the other boy. Then, without really thinking, he enthusiastically pats somewhere around Kaworu's ankle.

“I'll tell you when you're older.”

Kaworu pouts. “Until you tell me otherwise, I'm just going to call myself a pervert.”

“... Please, don't announce that to the world if you don't want to end up in prison.”

Kaworu stares blankly. He grabs another clementine. “Remember when you almost went to prison? I legitimately thought you killed someone.”

Shinji's mind creates the image of himself laughing maniacally committing gruesome murder. Haha, maybe when pigs fly, or when giant robots fight our wars for us. Like that would ever happen.

“I didn't almost go to prison. That was Asuka overreacting.”

“I know that now, but at the time I panicked.”

Shinji grins affectionately. “I know you did. You shed the tears to prove it.”

Again, Kaworu pouts, but it's not genuine. In fact, one might say he's happy to be teased. Ecstatic, even.

“I suppose I just couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you again.” he says, dramatic and sing-song.

Shinji hacks on his orange slice. His head whips around to Kaworu, who is ogling dreamily at a spot of missing paint on the wall. Slowly, Shinji continues to eat his orange, watching Kaworu with wide eyes and a pattering heart.

Then, the pale boy's eyes gleam back to life, and he bunches up his shoulders in a childish smile. He ambles excitedly onto the ground, taking a seat next to his friend and never losing the beam on his face. Shinji watches curiously, that is, until Kaworu does that... that _thing_ again. The thing with the leaning and the head and the shoulders and the sighing. He cuddles in, quite enthusiastically.

“I guess I'm just really attached to you!” he chirps, without missing a beat. It's ridiculous how even the air around the boy tends to be giddy. Shinji feels like a bug that's been tossed on its back. He's a carp (that's the least extravagant fish he can think of), wheezing for air on a muddy shore, flailing with all his might, and... Kaworu sighs again, his breath gusting onto Shinji's skin. _Stop that, you, you stupid-- you're making me--_

And then the bag of clementines, which had been balanced with Kaworu's weight atop the edge of Shinji's mattress, topples over its own cliff, the light netting falling atop Kaworu's fluffy hair and most of the tiny oranges bonking into Shinji's head and lap. Needless to say, the moment is kind of ruined.

Or, rather, it's turned into a different sort of moment, as Kaworu proceeds to snort and guffaw for about ten minutes. He's still leaning, though, and after a while Shinji relaxes enough that he can laugh too, and he does so with such genuineness that he doesn't even notice when his forehead buries itself into the crown of Kaworu's hair.

 

O

 

“Gnomes are very strange.” Kaworu says on one of his visits. Shinji can no longer discern the amount of times the boy has visited. He blinks, pulling a mug from his drying rack.

“What makes you say that?”

Kaworu shrugs off his coat, placing it on the back of a chair. It drips with the same rain that is pounding on the ceiling. He shakes his head like a wet dog, and it has the same effect, creating a spray in all directions. Kaworu's hair, when wet, is nothing short of comical.

“As I was walking here, I entered an alley.”

“Uh-huh.” Shinji nods, washing out another mug for himself. He thinks it's a little funny how he never reacts to Kaworu being in his house anymore.

“It was to hide from the rain. But, there was this... strange person.”

Again, Shinji nods, filling the extra mug with coffee. Kaworu sits on his bed.

“They must have had this affinity with palm trees, because everything they wore was patterned like them. And they had a beard about to their midsection... it reminded me of a gnome.”

Interest piqued, Shinji looks over his shoulder. He still pours coffee without watching.

“They were a salesperson of sorts. I believe they were selling scented herbs... either way, they looked pressed for money--” Kaworu pulls something out of his pocket. “-- so I bought this tiny bag of them, and well, _I_ personally think they smell like a skunk--”

Shinji pours coffee over the rim of the mug and makes a sort of horrified screeching sound. Kaworu drops the tiny bag. “What? What is it?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Kaworu jumps, looking slightly afraid and holding his hands up in defense. Shinji doesn't bother to clean the caffeinated mess he's made, instead marching up to the other boy with such fiery eyes that he might just burn the contents of the bag, and well, wouldn't _that_ just be swell--

He grabs the thing on the floor with two fingers and holds it about a foot away from the both of them, breathing heavily, as if he had just fought an epic battle.

“I take it you don't know what weed is.”

“Oh, no, I pull weeds from our garden all the time.”

The pouring rain is the only sound that can be heard. Shinji stares at Kaworu. Then, he stares some more.

“What?” Kaworu says, shifting his gaze uncomfortably.

“This,” Shinji shakes the bag a little, “is an illegal drug right now. Kaworu, you bought an illegal drug from an illegal drug-dealer in an alley.”

Kaworu parts his lips in thought. Then, he looks at the floor. Shinji waits for him to react fully. Finally, Kaworu darts his gaze upward to the little baggie, clenching two fists in front of his collarbone.

“I knew it was overly priced!”

“How much did you pay for this?”

“... A lot.”

Again, the rain on the roof talks for them.

Shinji shakes his head slowly, wondering why he's not getting paid for so much babysitting, before he pads over to his hamper and pulls out a jacket, sticking his left arm through its sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Kaworu asks.

“Kaworu, today, we are going on an adventure.”

“Huh?”

Shinji proceeds to stuff the tiny bag into his jacket pocket. He toes over to the door and grabs a brand new umbrella off the floor. “Adventure.” he says, opening the door as well as the umbrella with an airy _floof_.

 

O

 

“So do you... do you _eat it_?” Kaworu asks, trying to keep up with Shinji's absolutely determined power-walk.

“No.”

“Do you... put it in water and drink it?”

“Usually people smoke it.”

“Oh.”

Shinji's movements are positively robotic. He puts one foot in front of the other without a hitch, which is absolutely otherworldly considering how he usually walks. Kaworu struggles to stay underneath the dark-haired boy's umbrella, so with a huff he grabs its handle, too.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

A truck passes and soaks them both in rainwater. Shinji doesn't even flinch, he just keeps walking. Kaworu bites his lips and glares at the pavement, feeling all sorts of stupid.

“I'm sorry.” he tries. The sky replies to him in a burst of thunder. At last, Shinji stops walking, but even such a simple action is done robotically. Both he and Kaworu are still holding the umbrella.

The shorter boy's head whips around to glare directly into Kaworu's eyes. Kaworu flinches, letting go of the umbrella and nearly slipping. His face is just about as red as his eyes.

Shinji shuts his own eyes, and takes a deep, measured breath. He continues on walking, and Kaworu follows like a lost puppy, his lip doing that wobbly thing again. Don't cry, don't cry...

“Kaworu.”

“Y-yes?”

Shinji is looking elsewhere, anywhere but at the boy's face. “Stop being so cute, please. It's ridiculous.”

This time, Kaworu stops, and Shinji keeps walking.

He swallows a lump of moist air. Kaworu makes a fist, and then he lets it go, staring at the back of Shinji's head as he gets father away. Rain pounds atop his shoulders now that the umbrella is gone, but he doesn't really care. His breath quickens, as if he's woken from a deep sleep, and with a new bravery he shakes his head and begins to run forward to the other boy, feet splashing everywhere in the rain. When he catches up, he's able to keep up with Shinji, and although his mind is still abuzz with something like terrified confusion, he feels effortlessly happy. Shinji stares ahead as if nothing has happened. Kaworu grabs the umbrella again, and the two of them, without words, continue to walk.

 

O

 

When Shinji finally, finally stops walking at a break-neck pace, the rain has let up and the sun is setting behind a purple-gray curtain of clouds. The boy halts, and with a stumble, Kaworu halts as well. A police siren cries out somewhere distant, and they're both extremely relieved that it is nowhere near them.

“Why here?” Kaworu asks.

Shinji shuts his umbrella, blinking slowly and gazing at where he had brought them. A bridge over a small river, whose flow is so fast that even a boulder might be swept away. He looks idly at the other boy, who blinks in confusion. Shinji offers a wry smile and begins to look over his shoulders and everywhere else, surveying the area to see if they're alone. Then, he retrieves the baggy from his pocket. As if afraid of its presence, Kaworu steps back.

Once again glancing around the area, Shinji steps backward to about the midpoint of the bridge, glaring at the sun behind its hiding place. Kaworu simply pockets his hands, watching the other boy's every move. The sun finally decides to show itself.

Shinji's arm pulls back, then. He lifts a foot and he leans his body enough that his entire limb is at a diagonal angle with his spine, the bag emitting a spear of light in the sun's glint. Then, he throws, and the bag sails through the air, doing flips and tricks as it glides in the open wind. Shinji regains his normal posture, and Kaworu puts a hand to his forehead, both watching the bag make its journey and shielding himself from the evening sun. He whistles.

“You've got a good arm.” he says, nonchalant. With a sickly plop, the bag finally drops into the river, rushing away in its current as if it had never existed in the first place.

Slowly, Shinji makes his way back to the edge of the bridge, placing his palms on the metal railing and staring into the water. “Thanks.”

Kaworu nods quietly, trying to spot the already-gone bag in the water.

“So you really didn't know what that was.”

“I honestly didn't.” Kaworu confirms, blinking solemnly. They both feel like they're attending a really weird funeral.

“... Did you even go to high school?”

“I went to a private school.”

“That... that doesn't make much of a difference.”

The wind sprints through the atmosphere, chilling their dripping bodies, and they sort of huddle together like penguins. A dry leaf smacks Kaworu in the back. Shinji's tummy rumbles, blending in with the sound of the wind, but Kaworu notices anyhow.

“Are you hungry?” he asks through a series of brutal shivers.

Shinji shifts his eyes. “Maybe a little bit.”

Kaworu hums in thought, gazing at the clouds still in the sky. The river continues to babble.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he inquires.

“I... didn't bring any money.”

Kaworu shivers again, still watching the clouds. He appears to think for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and leaving the railing, continuing on the way they had walked. Shinji clenches the railing tighter, watching Kaworu proceed to walk farther and farther away from him. Again, he's reminded of what he had thought, how he's going to be all alone again... although this time, he calls out without really thinking about it.

“Where are you going?”

Kaworu looks over his shoulders, smiling with his eyes crinkled shut. “I know someone who will let us eat for free.”

Shinji blinks, before idly licking his lips and jogging behind Kaworu, dragging his umbrella haphazardly by its handle. He looks at the bright-haired boy sidelong, and sees that he continues to smile at seemingly nothing. Shinji, too, looks ahead. He moves his hand around in his pocket, and then, curiously, brings it to his face. With a grimace, he realizes that his palm now stinks of a skunk-sprayed cigarette.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been raining like crazy here and I think that reflects itself in my writing.  
> ... I really, really don't know.


	10. Baah (That's A Goat Sound)

“I'm fairly certain.” Kaworu nods, spinning around in his little chair.

“But are you _sure_?”

“Certain.”

Shinji furrows his eyebrows, before he lets his elbow rest on the edge of the counter. He, too, spins a bit, albeit not nearly as enthusiastically as Kaworu.

It seems that Kaworu has a relative, one who rather resembles a terrifying crustacean, and/or a humongous shrimp. It also seems that that very relative owns a diner, one that is quite famous for its ice cream. He had said something about the rest of his family owning another establishment, but Shinji might have zoned out at that part.

“But, are you _sure-sure_?”

Kaworu halts his twirling. “Yes, I am rather confident that Shamshel is human. If she wasn't, then I suppose my ancestors would have some explaining to do.”

Shinji's mind begins flashing images of past illicit relationships with arthropods, and almost as soon as they had appeared he wills them away in disgust. “If you say so.” he mutters, staring at the old-fashioned linoleum of the counter-top. Kaworu spins again. Whatever repetitive song that had been playing over the speaker ends.

It begins to rain again. People proceed to sprint into the building with various objects held over their heads. Kaworu yawns.

“The ice cream here is very nice.”

“I bet it is.”

And then it's stupidly quiet, but for the chatter of people hiding from the weather. A glass clinks.

“You should try the hot fudge.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“With sprinkles.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I could say anything right now, and you'd not even listen. You'd just nod, wouldn't you.”

“Mm-hm.”

Kaworu glances at the dark-haired boy to his right, who is too busy squinting his eyes at the sight of a distant Shamshel in the kitchen.

Letting a grin crawl atop his face, Kaworu extends his left hand to grab a napkin. Then, he unfolds it. Finally, with expert stealth and precision, he drapes the entire napkin over the other boy's head. Shinji just continues to stare, showing no signs of awareness. Kaworu grabs another napkin and repeats the process, and as soon as five minutes have passed, the dark-haired boy has approximately twenty napkins atop his head. Kaworu has his head down on the table, trying desperately not to laugh.

At last, Shinji turns his head, and when he does his snazzy new hat flares up in the breeze like a wedding veil.

“Kaworu, I'm going to regret telling you this, but your sister is a lobster.”

In reply, Kaworu shakes his head into his arms, snickering mischievously. Shinji blinks. “What?” he says. Kaworu keeps giggling, and people begin to glance their way. “Kaworu, what is it? People are staring...”

“That's...” Kaworu begins, before breaking into a fit of chortles. “That's a lovely hat you're wearing.”

Shinji administers a stare that is nothing short of befuddled, and after a moment of gawking, he slaps the top of his head and swipes all the napkins away, creating quite the mess. Kaworu's snickers turn into full blown giggles as he attempts to catch all the napkins gliding through the air.

 

O

 

“I've got a new job at the same place.” Kaworu says, casual, as they walk along the same path. Shinji had declared that he'd like to go home, and Kaworu had, of course, insisted (read: _insisted_ ) to walk him back to his apartment.

Shinji hums a bit to confirm that, this time, he is actually listening.

“Supposedly they somehow heard about the incident with the ID card and felt responsible. They're also in new management, so hopefully these people will be kinder. But, I look forward to it.” he nods to himself. “I'll be paid double what it had been originally!”

Shinji smiles a bit. “So you play in front of big crowds and stuff?”

“Sometimes. It just depends on my luck. Used to be at restaurants, but now it's mostly at artsy places, so the crowd's a lot less overwhelming. That, and they notice the music more.”

“That's impressive. I can't even talk to a crowd.”

It might be his imagination, but Shinji swears he sees a sparkle in the other boy's eyes. His arms find the back of his head, and he continues to walk, looking ahead with such calm that one might think he had lived a thousand lives. “I think that you're a person with a lot to say.” Kaworu says, confident yet a little hushed.

Shinji's smile falters. “Hm?”

“Although I'm not sure you know how to say it, or whether or not you know you want to say it...”

Vaguely, Shinji feels as though he's being intruded upon. He grows a bit defensive, but since he knows that this is just Kaworu being weird, he tries not to take offense.

“What do you mean?” he says, and it comes out a lot sharper than he had meant it to.

Kaworu continues to look forward.

“I'm trying to say that I'd like to get to know you better.”

They're not very far from his apartment, now. Shinji seems to have crawled into a reclusive shell once more.

“Well...” he begins. “Well, that's nice.”

And the rest of the way home is quiet, but for the crying of birds and the setting of an invisible sun. They stop at Shinji's door, and the brunet realizes with a grimace that he had left the light on. Neither one of them is entirely sure why, but they sort of stand awkwardly in front of the door for longer than necessary. Then, Shinji's hand fumbles for the door knob.

“Thank you for lunch... dinner-- uh, dunch-- wow that sounds _terrible_ \--”

“Oh, it was no trouble. I didn't even pay--” Kaworu scrambles to say, pasting a fabricated smile onto his face.

Shinji steps into his room and looks over his shoulder, before sort of hiding behind the door. “Um, bye.”

“Goodbye.” Kaworu says with a little wave, and as he says this his bright smile melts into what it's really meant to be at this moment, a sad, lackluster simper. The door shuts in his face, and for a short while he just stares at it.

Then, he turns on his heel, and begins to head home. The pavement below his feet, as expected, offers no insight to what that odd farewell had been about, nor does it lift his enigmatic state of bemusement in any way, shape, or form. All Kaworu knows is that he needs to come up with another reason to visit the dark-haired boy, pronto.

Shinji's landlord, the one with the accent, whistles at Kaworu as he leaves.

 

O

 

It's about four in the morning when Shinji's phone vibrates atop his belly in the dark, effectively waking him. His eyes, which were shut tight moments before, become tiny, deep blue slivers that would be impossible to see in the current lighting. The only thing currently visible is the dim illumination of his phone underneath the duvet, as well as the nearly nonexistent light filtering in through the blinds. Once again, a gathering of crickets are whistling their favorite tune directly outside his window, but he's so used to the noise that he hardly notices.

With a hand that's still asleep, he fumbles around for the phone, yawning quietly into the dark. It emerges from the blanket soon enough, and with sensitive eyes, he peers at the message.

_“Are you allergic to anything?”_

It doesn't occur to him that he should be wondering why Kaworu is texting him at four in the morning.

 _“Food-wise?”_ he sends.

After a moment, Kaworu replies. _“Anything-wise.”_

_“Baby powder.”_

_“Then, I suppose my plans for a baby powder themed date are ruined. Darn.”_

Shinji has the sleepy urge to throw his phone into the trash can.

 

O

 

Kaworu, holding a vase patterned with bubbles and tiny fish, saunters into Shinji's apartment in a way that suggests he owns the place. He's probably unaware of the way in which he walks, but nonetheless, Shinji's eye twitches as he detects the ego in the (slightly) taller boy's gait.

This time, the flowers kept within Kaworu's unique vase are a feathery, stringy mess that, despite being in such disarray, look rather like a show of beautiful orange fireworks.

“What are those?” Shinji asks, hand still grasping the door knob as he watches Kaworu casually set the vase on his counter. He's rather curious about these ones, since their appearance is so unusual.

“Supposedly, they're spider lilies.”

Shutting his door, he approaches Kaworu and the flowers. “I guess they do look like spiders. But I was thinking fireworks.”

Kaworu pokes a bloom on the tip of its fragile petal. It moves a tiny bit, but otherwise remains still.

“I suppose that would add an extra _pow_ to them.”

“I don't really think a _pow_ is necessary for something like a flower.”

“Good point. Now...” he says, spinning on his toes to face the other boy. “I have a proposal.”

Shinji, slowly, shifts his gaze from the flowers to the flower-bringer. Kaworu wears an intelligent smile.

“What is it?”

“You're not allergic to any animals, correct?”

“Oh, yeah. No, I'm not.”

Kaworu bounces on his heels. “Good.” he chirps, extending an almost robotic hand to pat Shinji on the head. “Because we are going to go on an adventure.”

 

O

 

For the first time in what feels like a millennium, the rain decides to stop. It does so without an ounce of consideration for the sun, though, because the sky is still painted gray.

“Really, where are we going?” Shinji asks, feeling like a kid whining about his dropped ice cream. He tags along beside Kaworu's casual stroll, mumbling with his feet, if that were even possible.

“You'll see.” Kaworu sing-songs. Shinji begins to feel the stinging of karma. Hadn't he done just this to the other boy, only a few days prior? Granted, he hadn't just accidentally bought a bag of illegal grass. With a roll of his eyes, he sighs.

Shinji's puzzlement only grows when they embark on a remote trail. He pauses in his steps.

“Okay, seriously. Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere fuzzy.” Kaworu says, kicking stones as the path turns to gravel. “And fluffy.” he says. “Also, warm.”

Shinji isn't sure whether he should be vaguely frightened or excited about the mystery. Fuzzy, fluffy, and warm could either be a good thing, or a really, really bad thing. As images of having a picnic with a gnarly bear (don't ask him why, he doesn't know) float through his head, they take a left, and soon they're approaching a rectangular clearing that doesn't smell or look very pleasant, but, indeed, does bring with it the concepts of fuzzy, fluffy, and warm. There are mostly children running among the clearing, occasionally disappearing behind the sparse spread of buildings, and among the remainder of the guests are exasperated adults twiddling with their phones or napping on benches.

“Is this what I think it is?” Shinji says to the musty, forest air.

“What do you think it is?”

“It's a petting zoo, isn't it.”

As if to answer his stated inquiry, a goat lets out a raspy baah and a gaggle of kids laugh aloud in the distance.

“It might be.” Kaworu says, pocketing his hands.

“Did you... did you take me to a petting zoo.”

“Well, yes.”

“Why would you take me to a petting zoo?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because... because it's a petting zoo.” Shinji says, turning to the side. Kaworu looks back at him with a clear confusion marring his expression.

“What's wrong with a petting zoo?”

“It's... for kids. Like...” Shinji points to the establishment in question. “Look, it's all kids.”

Kaworu chuckles a little. “Are you trying to tell me that you're not a child?”

Shinji huffs. “Well, yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

Kaworu's head tilts in delight. “See, you're still a teenager!”

Shinji gapes for a moment, before clamping his mouth shut and putting his hands on his hips. “I'm an adult!”

“I might even consider you a _pre_ teen.” Kaworu sings, stretching his hands above his head and continuing on the gravelly road. “Unless, that is, you can handle a simple trip to the petting zoo without trying to enforce your fragile, fragile 'adulthood'.”

Shinji stares at Kaworu's retreating back. Then, he kicks a bunch of gravel and jogs angrily after his smug friend.

“I don't even know what you're talking about!”

“It's simple.” Kaworu begins, sounding a little too much like a haughty college professor. “If one really is an adult, then they won't mind being a child once in a while. Think of it as an indulgence!”

Shinji frowns, halting his jog and keeping in step with the other boy. “But...”

Kaworu grins to himself, victorious. “Or are you afraid of goats? Really, what's the harm in patting a few farm animals?”

 

O

 

For the rest of his life, Shinji will be terrified of goats. He will also hold a permanent grudge against paper towels for their meager cleaning ability.

“I liked these pants.” he mutters, staring at the various strands of hay on the dusty ground.

“I now understand why goats are associated with evil.” Kaworu murmurs idly. Shinji nods in agreement. A rooster caws somewhere distant.

Currently, the two of them are sitting on a rustic old bench with their own personal roll of paper towels provided by the staff. Goat saliva, however, is incredibly resistant to paper towels. They both learn this the hard way.

Shinji has one foot propped on the spare space to his left, his adjacent leg completely pants-free from the knee down. It's also worth noting that goats have jaws of steel, apparently. Anyhow, he's wiping what slobber he can off of his shin, and Kaworu isn't in a much better state, missing his entire back pocket and all.

“I feel like I should apologize.” Kaworu says. “I had no idea that children were immune to the evils of farm animals, and we are not.”

“So now you acknowledge that we're adults.” Shinji mutters.

“Well, no.” Kaworu says. “Definitely not adults. Teenagers. I should probably differentiate between the two more often...”

“Might be a good idea.” Shinji grunts, nearly losing his footing. His leg is shining in the daylight with a fresh glaze of goat... juice. Kaworu sits, idly watching the other boy attempt to dry himself. In comparison, he's much less ruffled.

“But all the same, I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For taking you here.”

Shinji pauses, glancing up at the clouds, then down at Kaworu. “You didn't mean any harm.” he says, before moving back to the task at hand.

“Do you want me to help with that?”

“Er, no.”

Kaworu shrugs and puffs out his cheeks, looking back toward the clearing. A pony is staring at the both of them with what appears to be absolute malice.

Once he's satisfied enough with the cleanliness of his leg, Shinji sighs and turns, plopping into a normal position with what looks like an extraordinary lack of grace. Kaworu glances to the side guiltily for only a fraction of a second.

“Would you like to come over and change? I live a lot closer than you do.”

Shinji blinks, looking to the side at Kaworu, who can't seem to look at him.

“Oh, uh... sure, I guess.” Shinji says, not really thinking about his words. In fact, he doesn't think about his words very often, does he. Briefly, he decides that that's a conflict for another time.

Kaworu jumps in a manner that suggests he's been bitten. All the same, he slowly moves his gaze to the other boy.

“Really?”

Shinji stares blankly. “Yes?”

And suddenly, Kaworu looks like he's just been given the best news of his life. In a matter of moments he regains his usual vivacity, and his face splits into a giddy, genuine smile. Kaworu stands, and Shinji swears he hears the boy whisper a tiny _yay_ when he does.

“I'll lead the way.” Kaworu says, breathy, and without thinking he offers a hand to the still-sitting boy. Shinji blinks, going cross-eyed at the sudden hand in his face. It's kind of weird for him to notice, but Kaworu has nice nails...

“Uh.”

Kaworu seems to realize what he just did, then, and his hand flies into the air and he fumbles with his, well, everything for a second. After a short bout of panic, he clears his throat and glances down at Shinji, who is staring at him with one raised eyebrow.

“Ahaha... ha.” Kaworu tries, confusing laughter with words. Shinji stares a moment longer, before standing as well, dusting off what's left of his pants.

“I'll return this. You wait here.” Shinji says, picking up the roll of paper towels. Kaworu pastes a faux grin onto his face.

“Okay.” he says, and Shinji glances at him once more before making his way to a staff member. Kaworu swallows and allows his smile to die. He sort of feels as though he's just shoved his own foot in his own mouth. Right, flowers are good. Hands, hands are most definitely _not_.

 

O

 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Shinji halts his steps as soon as they leave the petting zoo, his hands braced in front of him and his eyes poised thoughtfully at the forested ground. “So _now_ you know where you live?”

Kaworu blinks, before realization dawns upon him.

“Actually, I have a map.” he chirps with a smile, digging into a pocket that, luckily, had not been eaten by a goat. Shinji shivers. He doesn't think he'll ever forget the feeling of a goat's tongue on his leg, and that is definitely not some disgustingly farfetched innuendo, despite the way it sounds.

Kaworu unfolds a yellowed piece of paper, smiling all the while, and Shinji looks over his shoulder to see what looks like the scrawl of a kindergartener.

“That's in crayon.”

“Yes, yes it is.” A nod. Kaworu points to a blob drawn in brown and yellow. “We're here.” he says, before tracing his index finger along an intricately squiggly red line. “And we need to take this route to get to my house.”

Shinji stares. And he stares some more, and he thinks it's blasphemous how much staring he's been doing, but, really, Kaworu just makes him more incredulous than he ever has been.

“You planned this?” Shinji says, in an effort to say anything other than _please, never touch crayons again_.

“Well, it was just for me to get home without delay.” Kaworu explains. He continues his lecture. “Anyway, we'd need to get here.” There's a blob that's shaped mysteriously like a crescent moon, purple, with an orange dot in the middle. “This is where I live.”

“Why is it shaped like that?”

“I don't know, Sachiel drew it.”

Ah, that explains everything, never mind the fact that the map itself is literally two oblong shapes connected by a nonsense line.

 

O

 

“There aren't even any apartments or houses around here. Are you sure you know where you're going?”

“Yes.” Kaworu says simply. Again, they're walking through the heart of the city, where all the action happens. As far as Shinji can see, there are only shops around. He doesn't quite comprehend, and for a moment he thinks Kaworu is lying again, before the taller boy takes an immediate left, directly through the door of a quaint shop he had passed an innumerable amount of times during his miscellaneous walks. Shinji experiences a bout of surreal repetition as he stands outside, watching Kaworu stroll into the place as if it's his home.

The pale boy pauses and looks over his shoulder, and Shinji, with a flip of his stomach, ambles through the door, and it's when he does this that he realizes the store is, in fact, the other boy's home. This epiphany occurs when he sees Ramiel behind a cash register wearing a green, frilled apron somehow on her geometrical... presence. The octahedron just floats there behind the register, deadpan in that sort of way that octahedrons always seem to be, because octahedrons are shapes and they can't display emotion and _honestly what the hell is going on--_

“We all live upstairs.” Kaworu chimes in, and Shinji is knocked out of his reverie. He looks ahead at the other boy, who is gazing at the floor with a dust of pink on the apples of his cheeks. It seems that Shinji is having a rather enlightening day, as at this time he has another epiphany, this one the realization that Kaworu is actually embarrassed to have him in his house. Suddenly, he feels like tap-dancing right back out the door. He doesn't, though, because of that stupid thing called social etiquette. Shinji swallows, and when he does he's mortified to realize that his throat had made a weird noise.

Kaworu continues to walk, turning a corner around a shelf of-- wait, he hadn't even checked what the store sells, what-- oh.

Shinji makes a noise rather like that of a goose. Alarmed, Kaworu turns, only to see what Shinji is balking at and for his face to redden further.

“Well, yes.” Kaworu murmurs, sheepish, as though he's explaining himself with just that.

Flowers. Kaworu lives in a flower shop. How... convenient. And weird. But it really shouldn't be weird, but oh, it is, and why is it...

_“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”_

Kaworu blinks. “Ramiel says hi.”

Shinji thinks his eyes are about to roll out of his skull and fall onto the ground. “Hi.”

“But... yes.” Kaworu continues, awkward. “I do live. In a flower shop. Of sorts.”

“Wait.” Shinji mutters. “You said they ran out of flowers a few times. How do _you_ run out of flowers?”

Unnoticed to them, a mosquito flies in through the window.

“Well, it's a long story.”

Shinji watches Kaworu fumble with his words, still clearly embarrassed, about what, he doesn't know. Vacantly, Shinji realizes he won't have to deal with that 'weird smell' other houses always seem to have, as this place only smells of flora.

Realizing that Shinji plans to listen to his story, Kaworu breathes deeply. He glances at Ramiel, then grabs the other boy by the sleeve of his shirt, gently pulling him to a door that leads to a staircase. Before they ascend the stairs, Shinji jumps about four feet in the air when Ramiel shoots an electric, glowing beam from her front and shoots the mosquito that had flown in earlier.

 

O

 

“All I can gather is that they all _really_ want to start a band.”

Shinji stares dryly as a pair of old jeans is dropped into his arms. Kaworu offers him a smile. The boy's room is disturbingly clean, but for a single horse-patterned sock on his floor.

“A... a band.” he parrots.

“Well, they actually call it something like, um... Instrument. Instrument, er... _instrumentality_? But if you check their internet history, they're all really obsessed with instruments. Literal instruments. Sachiel likes saxophones. But I think the whole thing is ridiculous, so...” Kaworu trails off, shutting a drawer and bending to reach a lower one. “Can you imagine them starting a band? It would be horrific.”

Solemnly, Shinji nods. He takes a moment to survey the room in more detail, and after a moment his face is split by a vague, gentle smile. Kaworu's portable piano is propped up against his bed.

“But you yourself are obsessed with the piano.” Shinji says. Kaworu throws a shirt at his face.

“Obsessed is a strong word.” he defends. Shinji peels the shirt off his face, and holds the bundle of clothes close to his middle. “The point of this story is, they're so obsessed with starting a band that they put all of the flower shop proceeds toward it. And I, personally, don't want to give my own money to the cause. So whenever I need to buy flowers, I do it elsewhere.”

“So you don't work here?”

“No. I get my money from the piano.”

Shinji thinks that it's a bit ridiculous for Kaworu to not take advantage of the fact that he lives in a flower shop, but at the same time he understands why the boy doesn't. All of his siblings becoming a band, why, that might just end the world itself.

“Please don't think me strange.” Kaworu sighs.

“Oh, I already do.” Shinji says, matter-of-fact. The clothes in his arms smell like lavender. Kaworu trips over his own feet. “But not because of that. No, I get it. You and your siblings just have different opinions.”

Kaworu breathes in a smile. “I suppose. And we still get along well enough. Anyway...” he grabs some pants of his own, regaining his usual posture. “I'll leave the room so you can change. Again, I'm sorry about your pants.”

“It's okay. I think I'll make a bold fashion statement.” Shinji says, and with slight mortification he realizes just how easily he talks with the other boy now. Kaworu smiles at the words, before leaving the room, and Shinji is left to stare at the brown wood of his door. Then, he looks down at the clothes in his arms, and proceeds to pull his old, slobbery shirt over his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I thought, be still my heart.
> 
> O
> 
> Meeting the fam. They want to start a band. Leliel can play the sit n' spin.


	11. An Alpaca By Any Other Name

If there is one thing that Shinji can handle with minimal difficulty, it's being thrown around within the confines of large, metal objects. This is why he sports a noticeable lack of worry while waiting in line for the newest thrill ride at the amusement park, which Kaworu had, of course, dragged him to.

At least, Shinji reasons, it is much, much better than a petting zoo. Granted, there is a miniature petting zoo in the theme park itself, but thankfully it and its goats are at the other side of the place entirely. Why, though, does he allow himself to be dragged to these venues? He glances to the other boy, who is bouncing on his feet, wearing a tiny smile, and waiting for the next line of cars to return. That's probably part of the reason. Either way, it's been a while since Shinji's been to a place like this, so he tells himself inwardly to enjoy himself. After all, Kaworu _had_ paid for their entry.

“Who do you think thought of something so ridiculous?” Kaworu asks, sudden, his breath puffing into the cold air. While the sedentary task of waiting in line is chilling, the sprinting to the next ride like children is not.

“Thought of what?”

Kaworu uses his hands to vaguely gesture at the gargantuan ride in front of them. Shinji's mouth warps into a half frown.

“Is this another tea question?”

Kaworu seems to deflate. “I'm just curious. Who came up with train tracks going so high in the air that people vomit? It's beyond me.”

“A lot of people think it's fun to do something so unusual.” Shinji supplies. Kaworu takes a moment of quiet, then nods. The line moves upward about three steps.

“But how could someone think of something so dangerous to do so?”

“Roller coasters are less likely to crash than cars, so I hear.”

“By dangerous, I mean in theory.”

Shinji watches as a gaggle of chatty teenagers embarks into the ride, fighting over the front seat. He pockets his hands and blows out a white puff of cold air. “You got me there.”

At this, Kaworu smiles victoriously, proud to have stumped the other boy. With a loud whirr, the train of cars begins its ascent up a monstrous slope.

“It's not too late to change your mind.” Kaworu says, eyes crinkling as he watches the cars get smaller and smaller.

“I'm fine with these things.” Shinji says, matter-of-fact. “Are you sure _you're_ okay with it?”

A rush of wind whips through the line, and the both of them are left shivering quietly. Rather surprisingly, this park is one that remains open to the public all year, despite the weather forecast. Only a few select rides close immediately when the first drop of moisture from the sky is felt, this one included, which is exactly why they're trying it first thing. A crunchy leaf sticks itself to the metal fence, thanks to the wind.

“I've never tried something like this.” Kaworu says. “So of course I'm not going to change my mind.”

Shinji nods. Once again, the line advances, and this time they're left as the first people to get on the next round. It's a sort of nervous feeling to be so close to something so fantastic, only to be denied at the last second with a literal fence.

A small child behind them in line begins to cry, and their mother takes them away.

“You know, there are seven loops.” Kaworu says idly. Shinji makes a sound of confirmation. “And twelve drops.” Kaworu continues, peering at the height of the tracks. “But I know I'll be fine. I've never been afraid of heights.”

“Neither have I. Surprisingly.” Shinji mutters. Kaworu laughs a tiny laugh under his breath. After a mediocre bout of silence between the two, the fence proceeds to open with a rustic creek.

Without a thought, Shinji steps onto the platform, nonchalant as his red and purple scarf brushes his neck. He steps into the front car, and waits without a twitch, looking at the white-grey sky and thinking about what sort of dinner he's going to have, for the umpteenth time.

It's then that he realizes he's alone. With a flick of his brow, he turns his head, and sees Kaworu standing, stiff and still as a tree, in the middle of the gate. He's smiling an odd smile, and after a moment Shinji finally realizes that that smile is terrified, and that Kaworu himself is as well by association, despite all his facade.

Shinji wants to groan, but he doesn't. All he does is stare at the other boy, exasperated, as a flurry of excited park-goers wind around him in order to board the ride. Kaworu just stands, and stands, and stands, until finally, he puts one foot out in front of the other and proceeds to robotically make his way to the car. He sits, with equal stiffness, and that faux smile is still wiped onto his face, much like an unruly stain.

“This is going to be fun.” he says, with that same excited tone he had before. Shinji stares at him, directly, and then with a sigh he taps his foot at the floor of the car, feeling a mixture of exasperation and amusement. With an airy hiss, the gate closes again, the heavy restraints cover their bodies, and soon the chain of cars is bouncing gently along the wheels of the beginning, and after a moment they begin the slow climb of a steep, steep hill.

The coaster makes decrepit sounds as the cars, rather old in age, climb the hill, slowly, achingly. A voice booms at them to keep their arms and legs inside the car at all times, and while Shinji doesn't react, Kaworu twitches quite violently despite his current restraints.

Feeling both sympathetic and annoyed, Shinji simpers and pats his friend awkwardly on the shoulder. “These things will keep us safe.” he says, measured.

Kaworu looks at Shinji with his eyes, but doesn't turn his head. “Oh, I know. Are you worried?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” he says, smiling gently, and unfortunately the concept of a conversation had been a distraction for him, because when they reach the peak of the drop, he is completely unprepared. There's a moment of deep silence, in which only the breeze hums and only a few miscellaneous thoughts whir. And then, they fall, and Kaworu makes a noise quite similar to both a squeak and a wheeze, but other than that he stays completely silent. Shinji is utterly stone-faced as the wind pounds into him and the slight flab of his cheek makes waves like a drum.

They reach the bottom, and they ascend another hill, and at the top of this hill lies a loop of miniscule but dynamic proportions, red and green and blue and all sorts of bright colors lighting it up, and without stopping the cars veer into an upside-down angle, and Shinji clamps the space of his chin and his collarbone to ensure that he doesn't lose his scarf. It's hard, but if he focuses, he can hear Kaworu more or less hyperventilating next to him, and if he squints his eyes in all the chaos he can see that the boy's knuckles, grasping the metal bar in front of them, are so much whiter than usual that they are actually, somehow, edging upon blue. Now, he's not a doctor, but he's relatively sure that that can't be healthy. There's a flash even brighter than the white of the day from somewhere distant, but it's of little importance as they drop back down again, and Shinji proceeds to laugh a little while Kaworu continues to wheeze.

 

O

 

“It's over now.” Shinji tries to comfort, poking Kaworu gently in his side. “We don't have to do it again. It's over.”

Kaworu sniffs. Shinji has never been very good at the whole comfort thing.

“Well, they took our picture while we were on it. Do you want to go get it?”

Like a child, Kaworu pouts at the ground, before nodding succinctly. After he had nearly projectile-vomited all over a bed of flowers, the two of them had once again began moving, albeit slowly, to whatever attraction awaited them next. Shinji makes a sharp left to the photo kiosk, pocketing his hands and waiting for Kaworu, sluggish in his step, to catch up with him.

Eventually, he does, and Shinji notices that his face is substantially less red than it had been, which is probably a good sign.

As soon as they approach the booth, though, the attendant takes one look at them and grins.

“Oh, it's _you_ guys.” they say, before turning and fiddling with some sort of large, intimidating machinery and pulling out a slick square of paper. They face the two boys, then, still wearing a smile and placing the paper down on the booth's surface with a smack. Kaworu takes one look at the picture and regains at least some of his usual happiness, for he proceeds to guffaw, while Shinji feels as though he's inwardly entering the umpteenth stage of hell.

Within the horrible, horrible confines of the photo, Shinji, himself, appears to be sporting at least three chins as he tries to keep his scarf in place. So that's what that flash had been, he realizes dully as he stares at the many waves in his cheeks and the comical squinting of his eyes. Kaworu, on the other hand. Kaworu, stuck in the frame of a silent scream, with his eyes leaking their own personal waterfalls of tears and his hair looking rather... big, is nothing short of cringe-worthy.

 

O

 

After, admittedly, not a lot of arguing, they had decided that Kaworu would keep the photo, and in exchange Shinji would buy him a cup of hot chocolate. And so here they are, sitting at a remote, messy table, with cups that function half as palm-warmers and half as beverages.

“We could try that next.” Kaworu says, taking a sip of his chocolate and pointing a shaky finger at a nearby carousel. It seems that he's still recovering from such a traumatic ordeal. Shinji clicks his tongue.

“You want to ride a carousel?”

“... Maybe.”

Shinji takes a sip of his own hot chocolate. “Okay. We'll go when we're done here.”

At this, Kaworu begins chugging, thus burning his tongue. Shinji continues at his own leisurely pace.

 

O

 

Hours later finds them having lunch at possibly the most healthy establishment _ever:_  a crepe shop. Kaworu had expressed excitement at having never been to one, and Shinji, ever the stubborn, had given in and decided that this would be where they ate. He thinks that this might have been a mistake as he watches Kaworu bite into some sort of chocolatey concoction and dabs a bit of whipped cream onto the tip of his nose.

“You have... uh.”

Kaworu pauses his happy munching in order to raise his eyebrows in question. Shinji tosses his words this way and that, before deciding not to say anything and just point to the tip of his own nose. Kaworu blinks, staring.

“What are you doing?”

“You have cream on your nose.”

“Oh!” Kaworu breathes, reaching for a napkin. “For a moment I thought you were playing charades.”

Shinji wipes his own lips with his napkin, already having finished his actually-lunch crepe. “Why would I do that?”

Kaworu licks his lips and wipes the cream off his nose. “It might be fun.” he says, placing his crepe onto its corresponding plate that the establishment had provided for some reason. “Would you like to?”

Shinji snorts. “No. Definitely not.”

Kaworu shrugs, smiles, and picks up his crepe again.

 

O

 

The equivalent of spilling too much salt into one's cookie dough happens only a short while later. A tiny drizzle rains down upon the park, and as such, any sort of ride that would be remotely thrilling has been shut down. There's still games, though, and so the two of them decide that they will play a few, find one more attraction that's open, and then leave. Honestly, Shinji wonders what his life has become.

All the same, he watches in amazement as his friend expertly throws a set of plastic balls into a stack of bottles, effectively knocking all of them over every single time. Shinji himself is having a rather rough time with the game, and after a while eventually gives up and watches the attendant's face grow progressively more hilarious in fright.

Eventually they tell Kaworu to stop, since he's already far beyond winning the grand prize. In response, he only grins and shrugs his shoulders. With something like fear in their eyes, the attendant fumbles around and reaches for a giant stuffed alpaca with big glassy eyes and thick downy fur. The pile of fluff nearly topples Kaworu over, as it's at least twice his height, but he cuddles it anyhow, looking over his shoulder at Shinji and smiling. Idly, the dark-haired boy smiles back.

Then, Kaworu holds the alpaca near the other boy, and when he does it bounces quite comically. Shinji swallows, looking at the thing. Honestly, how in the hell is he going to fit that in his apartment... he could get rid of it, yes, but he's far too weak in the knees to do that, and, well, the thing is so cute... Kaworu smiles gleefully. Shinji wonders what path his life had taken in order to befriend an alpaca-winning, goat-enticing boy with a rather alarming case of albinism. All the same, Shinji extends his arms to take the giant thing, and right before he touches its fluff the other boy pulls it back toward himself.

“I knew it.” Kaworu says, and Shinji blinks in confusion. “She's taller than both of us.” clarifies the red-eyed boy, hugging the thing close. “What should I name her?”

Shinji feels rather like a fish out of water. And here he thought he was about to be gifted a gigantic wooly mammal. He doesn't know whether to feel stupid or relieved.

“Something that sounds nice to you.” he suggests lamely, pulling his scarf up to his chin. The fluffy thing's fur rather matches Kaworu's hair.

“Fluffy!” Kaworu cries immediately, before cringing at his own words. “No...”

“What's wrong with Fluffy?”

“It's too generic. She's special.”

Shinji clicks his tongue. “Well, I don't know.” he says, pocketing his hands. “It's an alpaca. What do you name an alpaca?”

“What sounds do alpacas make?”

Shinji thinks for a moment, before lifting a finger into the air and clearing his throat, succinct. “... _Baaaaaaahh_?”

Kaworu blinks, and parts his lips a little. The attendant at the booth chooses this second to chime into their conversation. “Alpacas make a humming sound. Like uh, _mmmmmm_.”

There's a moment of quiet in which Shinji and the attendant stare at Kaworu, only filled by the tapping of tiny droplets onto the ground. Then, the silver-haired boy looks up, bouncing the alpaca in his arms. “I'm going to name her Bah.”

Shinji blinks. “Bah?”

“Yes, Bah.”

When another group of customers approaches the booth, the attendant shifts their attention and the two move out of the way, wandering the park again.

“What does Bah even mean? How is that better than Fluffy?”

Kaworu smiles into the fur of his oddly named alpaca. “It's the sound you said an alpaca made... honestly, that was adorable. So I'm naming her Bah.”

Shinji stares at the other boy for six long seconds. Then, he turns on his heel, and proceeds to walk in the opposite direction.

“... Shinji, where are you going? Wait, wait!”

 

O

 

Half an hour of Shinji pillowing his head into his hands later, they find themselves waiting in line at the most popular rainy day attraction, the so-called 'House That Is Haunted'. Why they don't just name it _haunted house_ is beyond both of them, but either way, they're standing in the middle of the line, grateful that the staff had offered to hold onto Bah for them.

“Are you going to be okay with this one?” Shinji asks, rather concerned with his friend's compatibility with amusement parks. Kaworu seems to bite his inner cheek for a moment.

“I'm not sure. What about you?”

“... I've never been in a haunted house.”

“Well, it seems that it's time to try something new.” Kaworu says, and the line moves forward. It seems that they only accept one group at a specific interval.

“There's been a lot of that today.” Shinji says.

“A lot of what?”

“Trying new stuff.”

Kaworu hums in thought, before linking his own hands together behind his back. “Even if it has a bad outcome, it always leads to a good story to tell.”

“I guess.”

The line jumps forward again. People around them chatter about whatever suits them.

“The rain is picking up.” Kaworu says, separating his hands and holding his palm up like a rain dish.

“Uh-huh.”

“Will you be ready to leave after this?”

“Sure.” Shinji says, rather bummed that his favorite scarf is getting wet. The tips of his fingers feel like prunes in his pockets. The line steps forward.

“Thank you for coming with me today.”

A bit startled, Shinji looks at the boy to his left, who is smiling at the crying sky. Kaworu looks down again, and shrugs a little. The line moves up a step. It takes Shinji a little longer than what it usually would to advance forward. They're getting rather close to the entrance, now.

“Uh, it's no problem.” he says lamely. Kaworu, too, proceeds to look at the other boy for a bit too long. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, losing his smile, and as Shinji blanches in confusion the line advances and soon they're swept into a hellfire.

Literally. The first room of the haunted house is, apparently, hell-themed, with fake torches and tiny demons and even the smell of burning. Immediately upon entering, Shinji blinks, deadpan.

“Spooky.” he says. Kaworu snickers in agreement.

 

O

 

Corn mazes are _so_ not Kaworu's forte, what with his habit of getting lost and all. The faint-skinned boy realizes this a little too late, when he's got long stalks of grass scratching at his eyes and a rather irritating case of hay fever. And, of course, with his luck, he had lost sight of his blue-eyed friend.

He's near the point of sitting on the ground and waiting for help when he hears a terrific rustle to his left. Kaworu stills, and his ears would be perked up like a rabbit's if such a thing were possible. Only the sounds of evening and a slight rain greet him, and with a deep, nervous breath, he continues on his feet in a straight line, positive that he'll reach some sort of edge eventually.

Then, a rustling to his right. He doesn't stop this time, but his heart proceeds to stumble and so does he over a stray root. This was a mistake, this was a mistake... and his arms find each other in the cold, and soon he's walking at a ridiculous speed but not quite running, and the rustling just keeps on going, and going, and going...

And it stops.

His skin is chilled to the bone. Right about now, Kaworu really wants to go home and get out of this creepy, creepy house. As he thinks of fireplaces and flowers, sniffling in the chilly air, he looks up at the false ceiling. An indoor corn maze, who in the world would think of such a thing?

The grass to his left explodes into an uproar of shifting and scratching. Caught off his guard, Kaworu stumbles, feebly grabbing onto a few long stalks of grass and staring with wide, glassy eyes into the dark where he cannot see. A hand bursts from the wall of grass, and he has only enough time to choke out a gasp when that hand grabs his arm and pushes wildly at his back, and then something harder, like a rock, smashes into his back, and with only his instincts to trust Kaworu begins to sprint, quite confident in the fact that he has long legs and therefore would survive, maybe. Hopefully.

His captor follows, though. Without any effort he can feel their wind ruffling his back, and as he runs as fast as he can, with his heart pumping tremulous amounts of blood and his feet carrying him to safety, whatever horrid monster that's behind him splays its gnarly hand on his back, pushing him forward all the more.

“Run!” it cries, and with a wild pause in his thoughts, Kaworu's head whips over his shoulder only to see Shinji with tears streaming down over his cheeks and into the air, his hair a feathery mess and his face the picture of absolute terror.

Kaworu feels such relief that he thinks he might faint. He doesn't, though, he just keeps running as fast as he can with the other boy behind, his breath so cold yet so warm he thinks it might melt the tingling crystals of fear lining his skin. Then, the walls of grass split around them, and they see that they're being chased by... a person wearing a potato sack for a mask, running on stilts with expert precision. Of course, Shinji picks that moment to step on the back of Kaworu's shoe, and soon they're both tumbling to the ground, one of top of the other, both with facefuls of dirt. Simultaneously, the two of them accept demise, Shinji hiding his face in the back of Kaworu's shirt, and the paler boy himself unable to look up due to being splayed on the ground in such an awkward position, what with his arms askew at an obtuse angle and his legs covered by his terrified friend.

The person on stilts halts their running while the two boys regain their bearings. Shinji takes the silence as a sign to look up, and when he does he sees the face of a girl lifting a potato sack away from her face. How strange, she looks rather like Kaworu...

“The exit is over there.” she says, pointing a finger to their right. Astonished, the blue-eyed boy just blinks up at her with tremors that could rival a fissure.

“Wh-wha--”

“There.” she repeats, measured, even. Then, she hides her face again, and proceeds to toe away on her stilts as if doing such a thing is simpler than reciting the English alphabet. Shinji then realizes that he's in an amusement park attraction. With an unsteady breath, he turns back to the task at hand and pokes Kaworu on the shoulder.

“Hey.”

Kaworu groans in reply.

“I think she means we've been here too long.”

“I got lost.” Kaworu mumbles, pitiful, lifting his head just enough to say a few words. He brings his arms closer to his body, turning his head a little. His face is smeared with dirt and riddled with yellowed, dead grass. Shinji huffs and balls up his sleeve, wiping at the other boy's face a little too roughly.

“Okay. But we have to go.”

With one last whine, Kaworu proceeds to stand up, wondering just why he has such terrible taste in date venues.

 

O

 

Exiting the _House That Is Haunted_ finds them wading in a sudden sea of snow, and with a heavy, fluffy alpaca held in their arms.

“Honestly.” Kaworu says, first thing. “I think the world is out to get us.”

Morose, Shinji nods, still quite winded from such strenuous exercise. The first chance he has, he fixes his scarf. Somehow, in the time that they had been in the house, the snow had reached their ankles, and the flakes had evolved into delicate chips of ice. They blend in with Kaworu's hair.

“Let's go catch the bus.” Shinji murmurs, pocketing his hands. It seems that, with the snow, comes an edge of quiet. Most people have left the park. He begins to walk, and Kaworu follows.

It takes them ten minutes to reach the exit, and four to reach the bus stop. When they arrive, Kaworu takes the time to brush any snow off one of the benches, and he sits, smiling a little. Shinji sits next to him, and they pass 'Bah' to the other end of the bench.

“That is a really stupid name for an alpaca.” Shinji says, to break the quiet. “I pity her.”

“She's going to a good home.” Kaworu replies, grinning. “Are you worried about her?”

“No, but I know the other alpacas will bully her.”

“She'll beat them up.”

After a weirdly tense bit of quiet, Shinji begins to giggle, and then he laughs, and he thinks it's funny how he laughs so much more these days, and soon he can't stop, and Kaworu just looks at him and smiles, his hands at either of his sides and his posture relaxed.

“What is it?” he asks, with a twitch of his shoulder.

“It's just...” Shinji tries, before laughing again. “It's just that I've never... I'm talking to you about _alpacas_ and _roller coasters_ and all this stuff, and it's like, I don't think I've ever done that before. I don't know. It feels so weird, it's just funny to me.” he says, growing bashful and hiding his mouth with his scarf. “I don't know. You're just a funny person.”

And Kaworu just keeps smiling. His head lolls to the side, and he looks at the other boy with such fondness that anyone watching would see it all, plain as day. Shinji flushes, and his eyes shift to the right. He stares at the feet of a certain alpaca through his peripheral vision, wishing that snow made some sort of sound, anything, when it hit the ground to fill the silence.

He thinks it's some sort of a sign, or the snow paying him back for such a backhanded comment, when a gentle flake lands on the lid of his left eye. Using his scarf, he wipes it away, wetting his cheek, and when his eyes fade open once more he feels only a gentle touch at the tip of his hand, resting still on the cool metal of the bench. With his scarf still akimbo, covering half his face, his gaze shifts down and to the left, slowly, and when he sees a pale hand, about the same size as his own right there, he sort of kind of can't think, and he really wants to call Kaworu out on what he's _sure_ is a mistake, and so he looks up, prepared to tell the boy of the disastrous position of his hand, but then, then--

Then there's a sort of _boop_ on his nose, and he's staring into what he thinks looks like two dishes of red wine, or cranberry juice, or, well, _something_ that's red and liquid, and all of a sudden he can't breathe. He can't breathe, and he doesn't think the other boy is breathing much either, for he wears a small, close smile, and a red hue across his cheeks that's so microscopic only Shinji can see it.

It's a little comical, the way that two noses get all smushed when put together, but Shinji isn't really thinking about such a thing. He's paralyzed, for lack of a better word.

And then Kaworu moves back, and the dark-haired boy thinks it's all over, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or downtrodden, but, of course, his previous thoughts vanish when he feels something touch at his mouth through the fabric of his scarf, and he realizes, with a flutter of his eyes and a trending of his heart, that he's being kissed.

 


	12. Now Is Not The Time For Dancing

Shinji's whole world turns white. Or maybe that's because of the snow, and it already had been white. He doesn't really know anything right now. All he can discern is that there's something kind of _touching his mouth_ through the warm fabric of his scarf, and hell, if that isn't weird he doesn't know what is. All the same, the sensation is soon gone, and Shinji just stares, deadpan, at the boy staring back at him.

Then they sit there for approximately four minutes, staring. Doing nothing else. Just, staring.

After these four minutes reach their fruition, Shinji proceeds to laugh a high, nervous laugh, still muffled behind his scarf as he places both of his palms in front of both it and his mouth. Kaworu only stares some more, seemingly awaiting something more of a reaction.

Finally, Shinji pulls his scarf down, and he proceeds to put both of his hands in his lap, pursing his lips.

“A-are you going to tell me that there was a bug on my scarf... and, and you had to squash it?”

Kaworu appears pensive, actually portraying the cliché of placing one's hand under their chin in thought.

“Well, no. But that would be a great excuse, or a conversation-starter.” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Are... um, are you going to... say that you wanted to see if my nose was cold, and then you slipped?”

A snowflake drifts in between their faces. At this, Kaworu simply shakes his head, stuck somewhere in between a smile and a panic. He looks ahead once again, pulling his hand back into its own personal bubble.

Shinji begins to shake a little bit.

“I'm sorry.” Kaworu says, even.

The dark-haired boy swallows his own breath. He then scratches at his knuckles for no apparent reason, before his eyes fly around anything in the vicinity. It feels as though he's gained a sudden nervous tick. He, too, looks ahead. The alpaca to his right flops a little, its head resting on his shoulder. Shinji wonders if the situation would be less awkward without such a wooly mammal present.

He takes a deep breath. Kaworu is so still next to him, it's a little disheartening.

“So...” Shinji says, before the words die. He rubs his hands together in an attempt for warmth. Kaworu lets out a sort of silent sigh, but Shinji hears it anyway, and it seems to pull the dam of words directly from his throat. “So, so you really were, you were, um... u-uh...”

“Trying to kiss you? Yes.”

As if he had suddenly ingested something really, really spicy, Shinji proceeds to cough into the dry winter air. Once again, Kaworu looks at him, and his face is a lopsided concoction of fondness and fear. Still, he retains his aura of other-worldliness, despite looking so, well, befuddled.

Shinji proceeds to put his entire face into his hands. “Why?” he cries. Kaworu falters, jumping a little. He looks the other direction, and a snowflake lands on the tip of his middle finger.

“Well, I... I'm sorry, I suppose.” Kaworu says, realizing that he's just made a horrible, horrible mistake. “You could pretend it never happened, or... well, I'm terribly sorry.”

Shinji looks up from his hands, his face a red, disheveled mess. He then presses the tips of his fingers to his lips, blinking with wide-eyes at the snow. Then he shakes his head, fervent, before slapping both of his cheeks with his palms, twice. His toes curl somewhere in his boots.

“That doesn't answer my question.” says the dark-haired boy, looking rather like a cranberry, or perhaps a firetruck.

Kaworu shudders. “What? Wh...”

“Why did you kiss me?” Shinji all but sobs. Kaworu feels like he's struck some kind of a nerve within the other boy. He tries to make himself as small as possible.

“I, well...” he takes a deep breath, leaning away, bunching one hand into a fist and placing it on his lap. “I... consider you someone worth kissing, that's all.”

Shinji claws at his knees. Then, he puts his hands to his mouth again, and proceeds to create a tiny, odd screeching sound.

“Honestly.” Kaworu hurries. “Just pretend it never happened. You won't hurt my feelings, I'm sorry, I'm--”

Shinji slams both of his hands onto the metal bench, and the alpaca at his side bounces when he does so. Kaworu blinks, alarmed.

“You...”

Kaworu loosens his muscles a bit. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You... you're so...  _weird_.”

In reply, Kaworu raises his eyebrows.

“First you... you do one thing, and then you say it's okay if I pretend you didn't do the thing? I can't do that...” Shinji breathes. His legs stretch out in front of him, like a steep drop. “That's almost insulting.”

Kaworu looks up, confused.

“What I mean is, I would be lying to myself, all because of you. Isn't that kind of a pain?”

“I suppose...” Kaworu murmurs, not really comprehending.

At last, Shinji turns blue eyes onto the other boy, and his expression is one of both pain and frustration.

“I honestly can't tell what the deal with you is. But I don't...” he kicks himself, because his voice had cracked, and what he's saying is kind of important. “I don't want you to go away. And I don't want you to... to not be honest. That just doesn't sound right to me. Am I making sense? I'm probably not. Oh, god...”

“No, you are.”

Shinji shakes his head. “But I... what do I do now? What am I supposed to do?”

Kaworu shrugs. “What you want to do.” he says, calm. There's a bit of fuzz on his lip from Shinji's scarf.

“But... but I don't _know_ what I want to do, I...”

And then a bus pulls up in front of them. They both freeze. The doors open. It's too early, Shinji thinks. Why did it have to come early. Or, perhaps, more time had passed than he had originally thought.

Kaworu stands. It's his bus. He circles around Shinji, and pulls Bah into his arms. Shinji thinks he's just going to leave, but then... Kaworu pauses, and although he doesn't look directly at the other boy, he takes the time to ruffle the hair atop his head. “It's alright.” he says, before standing to his full height with a bouncy, gigantic alpaca in his grip.

And Shinji thinks, no, it's not alright. No, no, it's definitely not alright... and when Kaworu turns his back, Shinji's arm bolts into action, grabbing the back of the other boy's shirt and pulling so hard that he stumbles in the snow. Bewildered, he turns, only to see Shinji staring up at him helplessly. Alighting into a sad smile, Kaworu grabs the other boy's wrist, loosens his grip and lets his hand fall, slipping away like a ribbon.

“Really, it's all alright.” he assures, somehow holding an alpaca in one hand. “It never happened.”

At that, Shinji sort of... bursts into anger. He jolts to his full height, and Kaworu steps back in alarm.

“Yes it _did_ happen!”

Then it's quiet, but for the whirring of the bus.

“It _happened_.” Shinji says, weak. He wishes that he could talk to Kaworu without having to stare at a cutesy alpaca. “It happened, and you're not going to take it back, and neither am I... so, so there.” he finishes, huffing and puffing. “There.”

“Okay.” Kaworu says, scolded, muffled behind a thick curtain of wool. “It happened.”

Snow continues to fall. From behind the light-haired boy's back, the horn of the bus sounds, making them both jump quite animatedly.

“Uh--” Shinji starts, tensing up.

Kaworu fluffs the alpaca in his hands. “I'll see you quite soon.” he says, still muffled. Shinji stares. Then, he swallows, and looks to the snow-covered ground.

“O-okay. See you next time, then.”

 

X

 

_“It's a little hard to share a bed with someone twice your size.”_

Shinji stares, confused, at the bright screen of his phone as he listens to the whirring of his microwave. He leans his lower back on the edge of his counter, and watches as the tiny cursor in the empty message box blinks. His mind flies through an array of scenarios that involve his pale friend sharing a bed with his siblings, and so far, every last one of them is horrifying. Then, realization dawns upon him.

_“You still sleep with stuffed animals?”_

_“Just the one.”_

The microwave beeps, and with automatic swiftness Shinji retrieves his bag of popcorn. He's not about to watch a movie or anything, he's just one of those people who eats popcorn for no particular reason. Sitting on his bed, he stares at his phone some more, unsure of how to respond. Luckily, Kaworu starts his own tangent.

_“I don't think many of my relatives have seen a stuffed alpaca before.”_

Shinji tears open the bag of popcorn, wary of the buttery steam that flickers into the air. It smells nice, but knowing him, he'd likely burn his hand again.

_“What makes you say that?”_

Only a few minutes of munching pass before he receives a rather self-explanatory response.

_“Ramiel shot her and Leliel tried to eat her.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“She has a big black spot on her belly now.”_

Shinji winces when he accidentally bites his cheek. He puts his phone in his other hand and swipes his greasy thumb across the screen a few times. How does one respond to something like this? _'Kaworu, you are aware that that's not normal, right?'_

_'Are you all aliens?'_

_'Am I hallucinating?'_

_'Your family is seriously devoted to cosplay.'_

Of course, none of these seem to work, and as Shinji feels a little off simply for thinking such things, almost as though he'd be breaking an ordinal wall, perhaps the fourth one if such a thing even exists, he shrugs it off and sends a quipped: _“That's unfortunate.”_

 

X

 

“Because then I wouldn't have an excuse.” Kaworu defends, confident. He even nods his head a little.

Shinji holds in his hands a brand new vase of orange roses. Surprisingly, the vase has no pattern.

“An excuse for what?” he asks, pushing the door open with his back and allowing Kaworu inside his house with an almost alien amount of ease.

The pale boy sets about removing his coat, draping it over the same chair he usually does. Underneath he's wearing a disgusting, horrible long-sleeved shirt with purple and orange stripes. Shinji thinks he looks like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A cute one, mind you, but still a sandwich. He wants to slam his head into the wall.

“Well, to come here.” Kaworu replies, twining his own fingers together. “If I simply sent you flowers rather than bringing them, you and I would hardly see each other, right?”

With a clunk, Shinji sets the vase onto the rather full table. A bundle of roses is rather fluffy in comparison to the rest of the elegant lilies. Deciding not to reply, he hovers over to the kitchen, where he begins the ritual known as coffee-making. Kaworu continues anyhow.

“I mean, first we'd have to arrange something, and you and I both know how great we are at that. So I think spontaneous visits like these are much better... plus, you still light up in surprise every single time.”

“And you walk _every time_.” Shinji says, grabbing two mugs in a rather mechanical fashion. “But you live kind of far.”

“You misunderstand.” Kaworu says, tilting his head and smiling despite the fact that the other boy has his back turned. “I _like_ coming here.”

Without a word, the dark-haired boy simply pours two mugs of coffee, his stance frozen and his hands shaking a tad. When he's done, he sets the pot onto his portable stove and takes a deep breath, looking at his reflection in the coffee.

He turns, about to ask just what is so enjoyable about walking through a scary neighborhood to meet someone like himself, before he blinks twice at the sight of Kaworu lying on his back with his arms spread above his head, comfortable atop a mattress that's most definitely not his. Then Shinji just sort of stands there with two steaming mugs of bitter coffee in his hand, and he can't help but feel an odd sense of mediocrity within himself. Kaworu turns his head, his hair fanning out like feathers atop Shinji's duvet.

“What is it?” Kaworu asks, relaxed, as if he has no idea just how ethereal he is. Maybe he doesn't, Shinji thinks, and that pisses him off a little bit.

“Nothing.” he replies, succinct, approaching the other boy and holding a mug toward him. “Here.”

Kaworu lies still for a moment, wearing a small smile. Then he sits up, accepting the mug with both hands and taking an immediate, measured sip.

“You make very good coffee.”

“Thanks.” Shinji says, taking a moment to sit on the edge of his bed. “I've been doing it for myself a long time.”

Kaworu hums a bit. Frost clings to the window, fogging it and creating a sort of bleak atmosphere. A bird chirps from somewhere. They sit there, both rather trapped in the recesses of their own thoughts. Shinji speaks first.

“That's a nice shirt.” he says, squinting his eyes.

“Thanks.” Kaworu murmurs, plucking at the fabric a little. The other boy's sarcasm does a flying leap over his head. Shinji grimaces.

Then, it's quiet for another moment.

“Aside from the others reacting to Bah, Sachiel was nearly in flames when I got home that day.”

Before reacting, Shinji takes a sip of his coffee. “Why?”

Kaworu takes the time to cross his legs before explaining. “He saw a scrape on my face from when we fell in the maze and became very worried... but it's all okay, he put a band-aid on it. It had tiny horses and rainbows...”

And Shinji proceeds to laugh quietly, causing Kaworu to stop his story and smile. The dark-haired boy takes his last sip of coffee mid-laugh, leaning over to set the empty mug on the floor. “I really hope you didn't leave the house with that on your face.”

“Oh, I did.” Kaworu chimes, rocking back and forth a little atop the fluff of the mattress. “I went grocery shopping. Got several compliments, in fact.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Shinji stares at the other boy incredulously, before falling onto his side and gazing at his back, with nothing better to do. “I don't think those were compliments.”

“I was told that the red of the rainbow brought out my eyes.”

Shinji allows himself a lazy smile. “Well, okay.” he says, resting the side of his face atop his palm. Another bird caws from outside his window. Surprisingly, it has not started to rain. The two sit in a quaint silence, only filled by the sound of coffee being sipped.

It's when Shinji finally gathers the serenity to let his eyes relax that Kaworu leans forward and places his mug on the floor as well, glancing over his shoulder. He catches Shinji's eye, despite it being half-closed.

And they know they're both thinking the same thing, and they just stare. Kaworu's cheek, askew at such an awkward angle, pillows itself onto his shoulder, while Shinji sort of rustles his face into the crook of his arm, pretending his heart isn't knocking rhythmically against his rib cage.

That last time, they had left at a sort of anticlimactic impasse. Maybe they should talk about that. Or maybe they shouldn't. Shinji wonders, would talking about such a thing create a distance between them? Simultaneously, Kaworu wonders how to approach the subject without sending the other boy evacuating to the mainland. After a moment, he lifts his head, before stretching out like a languid cat and curling into a ball. Then, he plops onto his side, creating a bounce in the mattress when he turns to face the other boy. Immediately and rather unsurprisingly, Shinji twitches, reeling away a little bit into his own secluded corner. Kaworu mimics the other's earlier actions, burying half his face into his arm.

“I honestly can't tell what you're thinking.” he murmurs.

“That's surprising, coming from you.” is the rebuttal. Kaworu sort of smiles, before becoming dejected. His eyes wander the the fabric of the duvet. Shinji blinks, before feeling a small stab of guilt. … But, no, no, he has no reason to be guilty... he can't really tell what he's feeling, actually.

Like a blubbery seal, Kaworu rolls over once, facing the other boy directly. Shinji's a little mortified to discover he has no more room to move back. They're not even all that close, but, still... Kaworu is _on his bed_.

“How are you feeling?” Kaworu decides to ask, feeling a bit like a therapist but knowing that that's just about the only way to coax what's true out of his timid friend. Shinji's eyes shy upward, before flicking back down to something unimportant. It's obviously a little harder to talk to each other now, and, well, if anything that just makes both of them sad.

Listless, Shinji shrugs. Kaworu lifts an eyebrow. “You don't know?”

The dark-haired boy presses the side of his face into his arm. Scared, maybe. No... not scared. Nervous? About how he usually feels, honestly. Just not how he usually feels around Kaworu. Which begs the question, how does he usually feel around Kaworu?

“Off.” he decides, distant. “Something feels off.”

“What feels off?”

Shinji's heart skips; a palpitation. “Just things, in general. They feel off.”

Kaworu blinks slowly, lifting his head a little. He relaxes his expression, thoughtful. His fingers trace patterns atop the duvet of their own accord. He takes a chance, knowing that he's going to kick himself later.

“Is it because I kissed you?”

Shinji makes a sound that's a little choked, before hiding his face further.

“You kissed _my scarf._ ” he rasps lamely, trying not to dwell on the fact that his breathing is getting quicker and quicker by the second, that his heart is positively rapping on the locked doors that are his ribs.

Kaworu laughs a tiny, breathy laugh. “It was meant for you, actually.”

Shinji coils himself inward, feeling like he's just been thrown in a pool of ice. He wonders how long he can dance around the subject before Kaworu gives up and leaves him behind. However, despite his general belief in dodging the subject, he hits the nail right on the head this time. Or, maybe he grazes it a bit. Either way, he's not dancing anymore.

“Kaworu... that's _gay_.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

Kaworu tries not to laugh. “... That's... is there a problem?”

“Well, _no_... but I mean...”

He fails a little bit. Shinji doesn't notice.

“I consider you a... a, uh, friend.” he says, treating the word like it's either a foreign delicacy or an entirely new abstract concept. “Did you... misunderstand?” With every word, Shinji just grows more frustrated with himself. He's not sure why.

“No. You're the best friend I have.”

Shinji's heart does approximately eighteen backflips, and even a cartwheel. “Oh.”

“Yes. But, you're also my favorite person.”

“Oh my _god_ you're blunt--”

“So I'm rather stuck.” Kaworu blurts. “As to what I should do, and how you feel.”

Shinji uncovers his own face a little, red as a beet. He glares at the other boy in a mixture of confusion and dismay. Or, at least, he tells himself it's dismay.

“But I suppose I know now.” the pale boy breathes, looking somewhere that's probably not where they are. “I'm sorry for overstepping my boundaries.”

And the other boy's heart plummets, like its been thrown on an elevator whose cord is snapped. He twitches, too.

“But.” Shinji hurries. Kaworu blinks, returning his gaze.

“But?”

That's a good question. But, what?

“But it happened.” says the dark-haired boy, repeating his words from their last meeting as if they were a mantra, a perfect verse. “And it's just that I can't believe it happened.”

For once, Kaworu stays quiet. Bitterly, Shinji takes this as a sign to continue. What's he continuing again...? Oh, right.

“You kissed me.”

Sidelong, Kaworu nods.

“Someone kissed me.”

Another nod.

“I don't know how to react to that is all. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings.”

“Like I said, it all just depends on how you feel.”

“How I feel about what?”

“Er, well... about _me_ , I suppose?”

Hm.

Well.

That, right there, is a question with a really, really long answer. Perhaps that within itself is self-explanatory, but Shinji is far too much of a worrywart to realize it. Upon seeing such thought mar the other's expression, Kaworu begins to worry. Is there something on his face?

“I think you're... you. You're smart but you're stupid and you're nice, but again, you're stupid. Sometimes. Okay, not really. You're really smart and _I'm_ stupid. What you are is, uh, naïve? Yeah that's the word. But sometimes it's really amusing. You don't know how to coordinate your colors, though. Also, you own a crop top, which is self-explanatory. But mostly I don't understand you. That's all I know about you, that's all I can tell from just knowing you.”

“Yes okay, I'm going to ignore the first half of that, but that's not what I asked. How do _you_ feel?”

“Not... like I usually do.”

“In a good way?”

“I think so.”

“What about when I kissed you? How did you feel then?” For some reason, Kaworu feels like he should be taking notes.

“Hhwa well uh--” Shinji coughs. “That's a loaded question.”

“... No, it really isn't.”

“Uh...”

Patience. Patience.

“... Really, surprised. Frozen.”

“Bad?”

“... No. Warm. It was cold but it was warm.”

He looks up fully, then. His red face is open to the air as he unravels his arms, and he stares at both the bright-haired boy's eyes and his nose.

“Did you wish I hadn't done it?”

Shinji opens his mouth for a small, measured breath. Then, he takes a moment to think.

“No.”

Kaworu begins to smile a little. Not really at anything in particular, just after watching the other boy work his brain so hard. “I'm going to ask you again. How did you feel? How do you feel?”

“I think I feel... nice. Happy. But, I'm afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Of... messing something up.”

“What are you afraid of messing up?”

“... You. You don't deserve a lot of the crap I have, I...”

Kaworu takes his palm, and he bops it directly onto Shinji's forehead. “Stop that.”

“Wh-wha--”

“I'm here because I want to be. I'm here because I enjoy myself.”

Shinji takes both his hands and grabs the other boy's wrist, freeing his forehead. “I know, but--”

“Sh.”

“But I--”

“Sh.”

“Don't--”

“Sh.”

“You're too good for me!”

A hush.

Then, a chortle. Shinji grits his teeth, his face only burning hotter, hotter, and Kaworu is smiling, and soon he's laughing and Shinji couldn't possibly be any more embarrassed than he is now. He kicks the other boy in the shin with all his might, breathing heavily and listening to his thoughts race by, yammer, turn a thousand clocks per second, and-- “Who do you think you _are_?”

“I'm sorry, sorry--” Kaworu tries to say between various uproars of laughter. “Sorry, I—”

Shinji proceeds to huff like a bull, before weakly pounding his fists into the other boy's chest, horrified, humiliated, terrified, how _dare_ \--

And then he's warm. Well, he already had been warm, but now he's warmer. The fists that he had been throwing are now compact, tight, flush to his torso.

“I think.” Kaworu says, fingers winding into a fabric that's not of the bed, but that's warmer. “I think I'm someone who lives in a flower shop with his family because he can't afford to make end's meet on his own. Also, I can't cook. Shinji, who do _you_ think I am?”

Shinji doesn't want to breathe because then he'll know what Kaworu smells like. He's frozen, biting his lip, his fists bunched up to his collarbone and his face buried in a hideous shirt.

_Probably the most worthwhile person I've ever met._

But he doesn't say it. No, he doesn't say it, because there's a nose and a mouth at the crown of his head, and there are arms wrapped around his back, and he doesn't want to say anything. Kaworu breathes, though. Kaworu knows what he smells like. Oh, dear...

“I'm sorry.” Kaworu whispers. “I'm sorry for being intrusive, but I'm happy. It's nice to be warm like this.”

And Shinji agrees. He doesn't think his bed has ever been any warmer. He's still mad, though. Definitely still mad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The temptation to title this chapter "I Can't McFreakin' Lose You" was so strong and I am weak.


	13. Three Cocoas Total

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's enough when I say so, maybe it /is/ that simple...

“These are the most ironic skis I have ever seen.”

“I wasn't aware that there was a scale or irony for skis.”

“There isn't. These are just horrible.” Shinji says, kicking one leg. “I'm not sure whether yours are worse.”

“Mine are fantastic.”

They're on a ski lift. Quite sudden, indeed, but Kaworu had not-so-subtly mentioned a trip his family was taking up to the mountains, and, well, Shinji had fallen into the trap. He's quite nervous, actually. Mortified, if one would give him enough liberty for the word. Because he's on a trip. A trip, as in, they're going to be there for days. With Kaworu. Well, the fact that that's worth mentioning in itself is a little embarrassing, but that's not exactly where his priorities lie.

The fact remains, though, that they're on a ski lift, so infinitely high above the white ground that it's impossible to differentiate between it and the sky. Trees reach toward them, menacing, like fingers from the earth. Anyway, neither one of them has ever been afraid of heights.

“Honestly. Some... ski-making-person thought of that. Someone thought that was a good idea.” Shinji mutters, talking over the winter wind. Kaworu wiggles a little in the seat, swinging his feet forward to get a look at his skis.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” he says, entranced in the little green aliens and spaceships dotting the painted surface of his rented skis. “These are excellent. It's yours that have a flaw.”

“Well, _yeah._ ” Shinji replies, lifting his own skis. Orange, with palm leaves and tiny suns on them. This wouldn't be strange if it weren't for the fact that they're, well, skis. “But the fact that they make yours in an adult size.”

Kaworu lets his feet fall back into the air. “Aliens are fascinating no matter what age you are.”

“By that logic,” Shinji begins, letting his legs rest as well. “Suns and beaches are great no matter what season it is.”

Only the wind speaks for them for a minute. If they squint, they can see a flurry of brightly-dressed people sailing down the mountain, rather resembling a bunch of colorful ants being swept into a stream. Kaworu gets his attention by nudging him in the shoulder. “Touche.”

Shinji looks to the left, toward the sea of trees. He really, truly can't believe he's here.

My god. If he were to have to explain himself to someone... he'd never show his face to anyone again. Ever. Shinji Ikari would just wear a paper bag with two holes cut into it everywhere he went. Even gaining some sort of bag-related nickname would be a better fate than having to explain just why he's perched upon the seat of a ski lift with Kaworu Nagisa and the rest of his family trailing behind.

 

O

 

Maybe he should just live the rest of his life in a train car. Shinji tosses the idea around in his head, contemplating how he'd go about getting food and how he'd sleep with all the noise... well, he'd bring headphones. Anyway, it's a persistent habit of his to contemplate just how he'd live his life if he were to actually give up on college, which, coincidentally, he considers to be quite the pointless endeavor. Every lecture attended is a white noise treatment, every day of work is a strain on his body that only exists to pay for said white noise... really, he might meet some nice folks on a train.

The streetlights turn on while his feet crunch into the winter's thin, permanent sheet of snow. Despite the terrifying stories about his neighborhood, he's never been very afraid of it himself. That said, while he's the sort of person to shriek in terror inside a haunted house, he's not one to be bothered when he hears about a burglary and/or some other heinous act within walking distance of his house.

It's when he turns the corner to his house, sees his lights brightly lit, as well as his door wide open to the world, that he thinks he should tweak this mindset, just a tad.

If his next move can be described as such, he springs into action. This, in fact, means he gasps like a fish and jumps into the nearest bush. 

Peeking his head over a sea of brambles, his sweaty hands slip around his pocket for his phone, searching, searching, finding, retrieving and  _dropping onto the ground this is not the time for butterfingers--_

A shatter. From his apartment. Glass, to be precise. There is glass breaking inside his house, someone is in his house, oh, no... His hand flies to the icy ground and he grips his phone, shaking any and all snow off its surface, and he presses it to the side of his face before realizing he's yet to call anyone. 

There's movement. A shadow in his window, indiscernible from the blinds he had actually remembered to shut, today of all days. He flings the phone in front of his face and proceeds to dial a specific three numbers when--

When Kaworu is in his line of sight. Flailing around inside his apartment. Alone.

 

O

 

“Its legs were so big.”

“I can't believe you trashed my apartment for a mosquito.”

“Shinji its legs were _so big--_ ”

“And how did you even get in here?”

“Your landlord--”

“ _Touji--_ ”

“There it is!” Kaworu squeaks, tensing and eyeing a tiny spot on Shinji's wall. The dark-haired boy follows his gaze, turning toward the offending mosquito. It twitches its, admittedly pretty long, legs.

“Well, that is a big one, I'll give you that.”

“I'm going to catch it!”

Brows furrowed, Shinji turns to the other boy. “Why?”

“It's far too big to be a normal mosquito. I must donate it to science--”

“Yeah, okay.” Shinji sighs, interrupting, waving his hand around the other's face. Kaworu steps black, fluttering his eyes at the fingers in front of his eyes. “I've seen bigger.”

And then there's a smack, and when Kaworu returns to clarity he sees the other boy with holding a shoe to the wall. “Did you--”

“Mosquitoes want to die.” Shinji says, simple. He pulls the shoe from the wall and proceeds to step into the kitchen, wetting a rag for the byproduct stain. Kaworu makes a choked sort of whining sound, before huffing quietly. Shinji speaks.

“Really, why are you here?”

The pale boy turns on his heel and shuffles over to Shinji's bed, plopping down unceremoniously. Watching the dark-haired boy scrub the wall, he lies back, lounging in such a position that can't possibly be healthy for his spine.

“I only wanted to visit. I'm sorry.”

At this, Shinji turns, pausing in his scrub. He eyes the boy hanging lazily on his bed, and purses his lips. Perhaps he had been a bit harsh... but, well, he hadn't really expected anyone to be in his house is all. However, not one to admit his wrongs, Shinji merely returns to the task at hand. “You're impossible.”

Kaworu shuts his eyes and lets a short breath leave his nose. Then, he opens them and proceeds to have a staring contest with Shinji's ceiling. “I broke a cup as well.”

“I heard.”

“However, I was able to spare the tulips.”

“Huh?”

“Look on your counter.”

Confused, Shinji peers over his shoulder to indeed find a pot of yellow-orange tulips. Admittedly, they do remind him a bit of a sunset. Deciding he's satisfied with the cleanliness of the wall, he slides into the kitchen and tosses his rag into the sink, approaching the blooms.

“I was just going to leave them at your door, but I thought I'd leave a surprise being as how I was let inside... I suppose I won't do that again.”

Shinji stares at the flowers, peering between their petals and into a series of speckled caves. If there is a flower who's cleanly, it's a tulip, inside and out. He thinks they're simple little petaled cups, which contrasts greatly with the unkempt bloom of a carnation or a dahlia. “These are really nice. Where'd you get them?”

“There was a little girl selling potted flowers in front of the market... I couldn't resist. Also, there's a note taped to it.”

“Oh.” is the breathed reply, and Shinji moves his head this way and that to look for said note. In the end, its taped to the bottom of the pot. He peels it away, and with much less thought than he would have given such a thing before, he toes over and sits on the edge of his bed, unfolding the note. Kaworu then rolls off the bed for some reason. Shinji pays him no mind, and instead begins to read the line, eyes moving from line, to line, to...

“You're... going to a mountain resort?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, well.” Shinji folds the note again, neat. “I hope you have fun.”

Kaworu crawls into his line of sight, plopping onto his knees so that he's looking up at the other boy. Shinji blinks.

“No, see...”

“What?”

With a bit of a self-conscious grin, Kaworu takes the note back into his own hands. “Um.”

“What is it?”

He proceeds to turn the note over, revealing a messy black scrawl that looks disturbingly like some sort of summoning circle.

“This is from Sachiel.”

Shinji takes the note again,his eyes falling on the mess. He stares at it for six seconds, trying to decipher just what it's supposed to say.

“Quite sudden, I know...” Kaworu says, laughing breathily. Shinji furrows his eyebrows, moving the note so close to his face that it's nearly touching his nose. Then, he drops it into his lap.

“I can't read this.”

The fair-skinned boy pauses his serene staring at some spot on the wall in order to look Shinji in the face, wearing one if his rare flushes. “He likes you quite a lot. In fact, he's convinced you're a government agent because of that time you jumped out of his car. What I'm getting to is, he already bought you a ticket... you can come, if you want.”

 

O

 

And so here he is, sitting in a ski lift above an endless expanse of white, staring at the green little aliens on Kaworu's skis. Really, wearing a paper bag for the rest of his life would be better than admitting that the pleading look on Kaworu's face had been enough to drag him up a mountain. That's something hard to think about, though, so Shinji focuses on the warmth of a previous mug of hot chocolate still in his chest. Whenever the lift jiggles and stops, their skis clamor together.

“It feels surprisingly warm up here.” he says, filling the silence as they're held in the air, still, swinging.

“I think it's because we're not thinking about the cold.” Kaworu supplies. A puff of visible air leaves his parted lips, and he stretches his fingers inside their light blue gloves. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don't know. Not the cold, apparently.”

Kaworu laughs a bit, and the ski lift begins to move again.

Really, he's thinking about just how little everything has changed. If Shinji weren't any wiser, he'd think that he and Kaworu really were just a pair of friends whose one side was a little clingy. Maybe, that's all they are... oh, he doesn't know how this all works. He's just here for the ride, he thinks, no pun intended. If Shinji were to give it a substantial amount of thought, he'd come to the rather bland conclusion that he's merely latching onto the other boy for the sake of something to latch onto.

Then, he looks to his right, and realizes just how cruel he sounds. Kaworu smiles up at the cloudy sky that matches the hue of his hair. Funny, people only ever stared at the sky in books or movies. Shinji simpers a bit. Here he is, being cruel to a person who can't possibly be real... oh, just what had made his soul so bitter, he wonders.

“Sometimes a stare is more intimate than a physical touch.” Kaworu says, his gaze never leaving the sky. Shinji blinks in confusion, before sputtering and whipping his gaze back to the snowy ground. “Not that I mind.”

“Sorry, I didn't realize I was--”

“It's alright.” Kaworu assures, but it does nothing to ease the sprinting of Shinji's heartbeat. Of course, neither does a jostle and a pause of the ski lift. Shinji swallows a flurry of cold air. The other boy smiles brightly, before leaning to his left and bumping his forehead onto a messy head of brown hair.

And he stays there. He stays there, resting atop the boy's head as if he's had a long day and is ready to unwind. He stays, and he stays until they reach the top of the slope. Then, he sits up, and Shinji startles as if woken from a slumber. It's at this point he realizes he'll have to somehow... navigate out of his seat, even though it continues to move. Kaworu unties the fabric belt holding him in, and Shinji tries to follow his example, but realizes too late that his hands are shaking and that this always happens at the worst times. He grabs hold of the ends of the belt, pulling, pushing, shaking, doing whatever he can to untie it, and Kaworu pays him no mind, for as soon as they get close enough to the ground he hops off.

Shinji wheezes as he makes the roundabout, swinging around a pole and being pulled back into the air. His hands, taut around the belt, fall to his sides as he's lifted into the sky. Oh, how embarrassing.

 

O

 

Of course, when he reaches the bottom of the slope for the second time, Kaworu is there waiting for him, looking a little lost in his little woven hat and his pair of alien-themed skis.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm... fine.” he says, unsurprised when the entire lift stops just for him. Once again, Shinji sets about untying the knot, only to be mortified when he _still can't_.

“Here.” says a familiar voice, and soon there's a pair of gloved hands at his midsection pulling the knot this way and that. All Shinji can do is stare at his lap and try not to fly into the sun. Within seconds, the knot is undone.

 

O

 

“Really, there's no need to be embarrassed.” Shinji just sips at his second mug of hot cocoa. Kaworu frowns. “Really.”

Quiet, Shinji nods, never looking away from his lap. This is something that only he would find himself wound up in, honestly. Kaworu puts his elbows on the table and rests his head in his palms.

“It was a tight knot.” Kaworu tries. Shinji realizes the other boy is only trying to help, but he still can't help but feel humiliated. He sips his chocolate.

“I'm sorry for ruining today.” Shinji finally says. Immediately, Kaworu scoffs, kicking at the other boy's feet under the table.

“You didn't ruin it. If anything you made it more memorable. To be honest, I was racing you down the mountain. Those lifts are fast.”

The dark-haired boy allows himself a tiny smile. The smell of cocoa wafts through the air. Earlier, Shinji had shakily said he didn't want to go outside anymore that day. Kaworu had merely patted his back and pushed him into the cafe.

“You know.” Kaworu says, leaning back a little. Shinji finally looks at him. He looks nice in sweaters, even if they've got little red cars and tiny prints of the word 'vroom!' on their collars. They make him look warm. “This _is_ a little random.”

“What?”

“You being up here with us. I'm sorry for dragging you.”

“You didn't _drag_ me.” Shinji defends. “If I didn't want to come I would have told you.” Or, at least, he tells himself as much. Kaworu's eyes crinkle into little slivers when he smiles.

“Still, you can't be comfortable.”

The blue-eyed boy licks his lips and takes another sip of cocoa. Honestly, when is he ever comfortable? Deciding not to say anything, he wipes his mouth with his sleeve and shrugs a tiny shrug, keeping the same small smile.

Kaworu stares at him for a moment, before pillowing his chin onto the table and stretching his arms out like a lanky cat.

“Or are you?”

“What?”

“Are you comfortable? I can't tell.”

Shinji holds the rim of the cup to his lips, before lowering it just a tad and letting his face fall into a state of bemusement. Under the table, he puts one leg over the other. “Are you?” he asks in place of a reply, trying to formulate a distracting answer. Kaworu blinks.

“I'm perfectly fine. I'm happy.” he answers, hiding half his face behind his arm. Shinji has the weird thought that Kaworu sort of looks like a semi-moon when he does that. The fair-skinned boy shuts his eyes for just a second, allowing his lashes to tickle the apples of his cheeks.

Shinji relaxes, taking one of the latter sips of his cocoa. “That's good.” he says, hardly tense, but all the same not quite comfortable in his own skin. There hadn't been anything else to do but come along, really... From a window to his right, the sun peeks out from its cloudy shield. There's a pressure at the tip of his toe.

The dark-haired boy experiences a moment of confusion, before he takes the final sip of his cocoa and sets the mug on the table. Kaworu's eyes are still shut, rather serene, and with a little twitch he lightly kicks the other boy's foot.

“What is it?”

Still hidden, Kaworu's shoulders quirk into a shrug. Huffing, Shinji musters a bit of audacity before kicking him right back. Finally, a pair of wine-colored eyes slide open. He's wearing a smug little smile.

“I know you said you don't want to go outside, but...”

 

O

 

Shinji is beginning to think that Kaworu is such a warm person that he doesn't even understand the concept of cold. He watches the white-haired boy roll around in the snow, and realizes morbidly that if it weren't for his automobile-encrusted sweater, he might not even be able to see him in such a colorless expanse.

That said, with his hands in his pockets and his boots buried into the powdery ground, he once again feels like he's babysitting. When he kneels down to the other boy's level, Kaworu stops squirming.

“What are you doing?” Shinji asks, measured, with his hands on his knees.

“Making a snow angel.” Kaworu replies, pushing a wall of snow above his head with his arms. He rather resembles a starfish in his current position.

“Oh.”

“Yes. Would you like to try?”

“No thanks, I don't want snow on my back.”

The pale boy blinks, before bringing his arms back to his sides, scraping snow over his waist. “Your nose is all red.” he says, out of the blue.

Startled, Shinji rubs the tip of his nose. “It is?”

Kaworu's hands reach above his head again. “It is. I hope you don't get sick.”

“No, I must just be cold.” says the dark-haired boy, sniffing a bit. He rubs his nose this way and that, feeling a little self-conscious. “Sorry.”

Kaworu shakes his head, his hair becoming tousled in the snow. His eyes are big like cherries when he looks straight ahead, or, well, above, in Shinji's case, and proceeds to just smile.   
“The first memory I have of you was when you were sick.”

Shinji blinks. He loses his balance a tad, and buries one cold hand into the snow. Kaworu jolts as if to help him, but soon relaxes again.

“And then you disappeared for a time and I thought that you'd just left.”

“Hah. You wouldn't have wanted me around when I was sick, anyway.”

Kaworu's head turns to the side, and his cheek pillows itself into the snow. “I thought you were angry with me.”

Shinji regains his stature, shaking the snow off his hand and folding both arms atop his knees. “Do you remember the orange juice?”

Kaworu's eyes flick to the other boy's. “Orange juice?”

“Yeah. You and I snuck out of the hospital and went to a convenience store to buy orange juice. Did you forget?”

“I don't remember that.”

A little sad, Shinji rocks on his heels. The other boy sits up, then, cross-legged and thoughtful.

“I have a proposal.” he says, putting one finger into the air. Shinji sniffs.

“Oh, boy.”

“No, this time it's serious.”

The dark-haired boy waits, not expecting anything really important. Kaworu puts his hand back into his lap.

“This is going to sound selfish from me, but...” he wipes a brush of snow off his pants. “When we get back home, I want to go get orange juice.”

“... Okay? You do that, I guess.”

“I want you to come with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Because.” Kaworu wears a serious expression, bunching up his shoulders close to his jaw. “I cherish memories with you very much.”

And that's when Shinji finally falls on his backside. His feet sort of give out, and there's a cloud of powdery white rising from where his abrupt weight had packed the snow tight. Lone fingers in the harsh winter air aren't very enjoyable, he realizes, when his hands are stuck in their panicked state in the air.

Clearing his throat, he draws his knees close to his chest and tries his best to ignore the frigid moisture of the snow. Kaworu sits, still in his snow angel.

“I see.” Shinji murmurs, partially hiding his face behind his knees. In a way, his knees had always functioned as some kind of strange emotional-shield. Defensive, he watches as Kaworu unravels his own legs and scoots closer still in the snow.

“Do you hate it when I say things like that?”

With a saintly amount of patience, Kaworu awaits a reply. All he can see of Shinji's face are his eyes, peeking shyly over his legs. It feels like yet another oblong staring contest. Those navy eyes swerve to the left, where they watch something in the snow with feverish intensity. Finally, the boy shakes his head, albeit slowly.

“You don't hate it?”

Again, he shakes his head, this time with more confidence. “I told you already. We've been over this.”

“Then, why are you hiding?”

As if bitten, Shinji twitches. “... I'm not hiding.” he mumbles, hiding his face further. Kaworu smiles, amused, but scoots forward nonetheless, ruining the snow angel in a very slight way.

“It really doesn't bother you?”

“No.” he says, finally.

Kaworu takes only a moment to assess the situation, before drawing a hand outward, slowly, gingerly, and placing it atop the other boy's head. He uses his thumb to brush some of the dark-haired boy's fringe away from his eyes, smiling gently. Shinji only hides his face further, his complexion growing a steadier pink.

“I still can't tell if we're in the same mindset.” he says, brushing his finger's through the other's hair.

“Still?” Shinji murmurs, lifting his face a little. Kaworu only shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

“I want to be sure, but I've never known if it was worth saying... I cherish you.”

Shinji proceeds to hide again. He just wonders, why me, why me, and Kaworu only smiles. Really, the boy is oblivious to the fact that there's no reason why it's him, that it just is. The only thing that's left is for him to believe it, and to not be afraid of it.

That thin hand leaves his hair, and he's frustrated, so frustrated, by the fact that he feels both relief and vexation. He doesn't think he deserves any of this. What has he done for it, really?

That doesn't matter, that doesn't matter. None of that matters. But it does, it does... and something warm, like a blanket, covers his shoulders. He looks up, and sees a familiar, gentle smile. Those blankets are a pair of warm palms. Warm, even in this cold. Oh, how cliché... If half his head wasn't preoccupied in clearing the flush from his cheeks, he'd probably headbutt the other boy in the forehead for being such a cheeseball. He doesn't, though. He's still. All the same, he doesn't think he's ever met someone so ridiculous.

“You needn't worry about anything.” says a voice so close that he can feel a rush of breath on his face, so close that his eyes flutter and his heart stops and he stops thinking but for a mantra that really shouldn't be a mantra.

 _You're not real, you're going to get yourself hurt, you don't deserve to be hurt..._ And there's a warm presence on his forehead. The mantra stops, and his heart begins to work again, beat after beat after wobbly, unstable beat, and for the second time in his life all he can see are two deep, vapid pools of red and a porcelain nose.

_Don't get yourself hurt._

And it's like the invitation of a rose, it's like lying in a bed of velvet. As if drowsy, he allows his eyes to fall shut. He allows his lips to be stolen, and he allows his incessant thoughts to take a rest, just for a moment. Just a moment, a moment, and that moment is now a minute and the hands that are on his shoulders are making soft little circles in his neck, and there's a rush, a bolt of tiny butterflies that fly down his spine, and it's at this moment that he doesn't consider himself capable of hurting the other boy. No, no one could.

Then, it's gone, and an anvil races to the bottom of his stomach. He won't open his eyes, he won't open them, he won't, because then he _knows_ he'll ruin everything with his own tendencies, he knows he'll be the destruction of all this and he _hates it_ and how he wishes he could go back to just a moment before, how--

“Your heart is racing.” Kaworu murmurs. His thumb is hovering above the pulse of his neck. “Is that a good thing?”

Shinji's just focusing on not licking his lips in front of the other boy.

“What do you think?” he finally sighs, trying so, so hard to appear composed. His head, however, is a labyrinth of incoherent yelling.

“I think you're wonderful.”

This time, Shinji really does slam his forehead into the other boy's. Kaworu hits the snow with a dull thud.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha what the hell is a run-on sentence I've never heard of that is it a fingernail disease? wow
> 
> PS sorry for the wait i was running a temporary friend shelter.


	14. Done-Come-Cone-Dome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick, knit my feelings together, won't you?

“I can't believe it.”

“Wow.”

“ _SKREEE._ ”

Three pairs of eyes, one red, one blue, and one disturbingly hollow, watch the counter go up and up. It's well past the million mark, growing in numbers with such speed that at the very last digit, all that can be seen is an incoherent blur.

Gleeful, Kaworu pats his brother on the shoulder. “You're internet famous.” he says, and Sachiel makes some sort of terrifying squeak of happiness, clapping his... hands. Shinji only now notices that Sachiel only has three fingers per hand. Is he okay?

In awe, they play the video again. At first, all there is is a snowy mountain, lonesome and pointed. The title of the video reads,  _'Shoulder-Pad Bird Man Lands Some Sick Snowboard Moves!!'._ However, soon that mountain becomes populous with a large, dark figure, whose silhouette creates a tiny eclipse on the horizon. The figure slowly gets larger and larger, before it's seen to the ordinary eye as, indeed, a shoulder-pad bird man on a snowboard. The camera shakes a bit, but abruptly, at the foot of a wooden ramp, Sachiel sails into the air, flipping approximately three times, all while holding his...  _hands_ (claws?) in the air, before he executes a perfect landing, spraying snow in all directions.

“Wow.” Shinji says again. Kaworu nods, turning his screen off. A bird caws from somewhere, quite off its rocker to be somewhere so cold and secluded. Sachiel stands to his full gargantuan height.

“I knew you were made for greatness.” Kaworu says, smiling big and standing as well. At this, one can almost see a sparkle in Sachiel's cold, dead eyes. Shinji stays seated at the bench, watching the two converse. Dreaming. Yeah, he's totally dreaming.

Sachiel pauses, then. His face tilts, and Kaworu blinks. Then, he makes a sort of cooing sound, pulls a bandaid out of seemingly nowhere, and sticks it to the base of Kaworu's forehead, right above his eyebrow. Going cross-eyed, Kaworu blinks, once, twice, before laughing a little and batting Sachiel's freakish hand away. Once more, he tilts his ivory face, before turning and lurking somewhere into the snow.

Shinji keeps his hands in his lap, eyeing the exchange with a substantial amount of amusement. Kaworu stares after his brother for a while, before shaking his head and turning to the brown-haired boy, now sporting a bandage with a widely designed array of multicolored farm animals.

“It's getting late.” he says, idle. Shinji blinks.

“It is?”

“Mmhm.” Kaworu says, looking back where he had been. Sachiel is out of sight, now. He pockets his hands. “We ought to go get our rooms.”

Oh, yeah. That's a thing. Shinji blinks, scratching at his nose, before he stands. “Okay.”

 

O

 

Indeed, mere minutes after they had trekked to the lodge, hotel, whatever one wants to call it, the sky had begun shifting into a gradient of dark blue and orange.

Immediately upon reaching the lobby, Shinji realizes that the hostess is weirdly familiar, although he can't place just why. She looks kind of like Kaworu, it must be her eyes. At the sound of the door creaking open, she sets her book down on the desk she occupies and looks up at them, blinking once.

“We have, um. A reservation for...” Kaworu begins, counting on his fingers. “Eight rooms.” he says, finally, with a happy little nod.

The hostess blinks once more, and her lips shape into something that Shinji can't quite place.

“Eight?”

“Ahaha... yes.”

Shinji furrows his eyebrows and looks at Kaworu sidelong, incredulous. “Eight?” he mouths. The girl behind the counter flicks her eyes between the both of them, before turning to the left and flicking open an old-fashioned leather bound planning book. After a moment, she blinks.

“Oh. Yes.” she says, opening a drawer and retrieving exactly eight room cards, sliding them across the counter. Her stare is blank, and after just a beat Kaworu takes the keys, smiling ceaselessly. Shinji's eyes rove between the two. They're so similar, it hurts. Although, the girl is certainly a lot less chipper... ah.

“Have I seen you somewhere?” he blurts, and the girl's eyes flick from Kaworu to him. She blinks. For only a moment, her gaze rests upon his face.

“I don't know.”

  
… Maybe he shouldn't have asked. It's no big deal, surely, but now he's all nervous.

“Sorry, I don't know why, but you look familiar.”

In reply, all the does is tilt her head.

 

O

 

“Eight rooms.”

“... Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well... we are going to be two per room... and there are fifteen of us, plus--”

“ _What_.”

“... What?”

Shinji grips the rail of the elevator behind his back. His lips are parted, and he's furrowing his brows at the other boy. “Fifteen.”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was just your family.”

“Well, just us siblings.”

“Are you saying that you're part of fifteen siblings?”

“Yes. I'm the youngest.”

Now, Shinji has, throughout his life, prided himself in not being _overly_ vulgar... however, he can't seem to help it this time when the phrase slips past his lips. “Holy shit.”

Kaworu snorts, lips crinkling in laughter. He saunters into the middle of the elevator, putting his hands behind his back as he languidly stares at the electric numbers of their floor go up and up.

“So it's a good thing we all get along so well.” he says, rocking on his heels. “Otherwise, wars would surely be started.”

“That'd be one scary war.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Unfazed, Kaworu continues to smile. He begins to hum along the the elevator music, and still, he rocks on his feet in the usual cheerful manner. Then, he pauses.

“Ah.”

In question, Shinji blinks. It doesn't really occur to him that there's no way for Kaworu to pick up on that, but he explains himself, anyhow.

“I assume you'll be rooming with me?” Kaworu says, pointing a finger to himself. Now, Shinji has always regarded Kaworu as someone who's rather bold when he wants to be, however, he has never regarded him as someone who's ceaselessly, dangerously reckless. That is, until now, at this moment, in which Kaworu has the audacity to _wink_. He smiles coyly, and much like a thermometer, Shinji's blood fills his entire being, and when it reaches the top, his face wrinkles into an expression that's nothing short of absolute horror. “I have something fun planned.”

He's joking. Oh my god, he _has_ to be joking, he thinks, and when Kaworu only looks back at the ticking, growing numbers, Shinji experiences the urge to pry open the top of the elevator and escape, much like one would in a stealthy action movie. He doesn't, though. He's far too cool for that, evidently, and instead he stands there with his mouth open like a fly trap while Kaworu continues rocking on his feet and humming. Once again, he's not one to be vulgar, but... _holy shit_.

 

O

 

His spine is on fire. In fact, Shinji's entire being is in flames. Currently, he's standing in the hall of the hotel, trying not to fall into a fit of clamoring, heaving breaths. He's secluded, against the wall, watching some kind of strange role call occur between Kaworu's family. Not only is he nervous from the events of a few moments ago, but he's also, just... afraid, from, well, you know, being in a hall full of aliens. Fifteen of them. Lord.

After all the chatter, the mass of creatures enter their corresponding rooms, and soon Shinji is left in the hall with Kaworu and, still, honestly, _is there a dictionary nearby so he can look up the meaning of a wink--_

And Kaworu smiles at him, his eyes shutting in his usual, kind way, so familiar that Shinji is almost calmed, almost. But, not quite. Once the fair-skinned boy turns his back, Shinji feels that same fiery chill race up and down his spine, ruthless, ceaseless. He feels like he's going to throw up...

The door opens, and for once the dark-haired boy follows without missing a beat. His feet hit the carpeted floor, one at a time, left, right, left, right, he's looking at the floor, walking to fill the silence and/or the yelling in his head, and soon he forgets where he's going, and in a dizzy instance, his ankle collides with the leg of an armchair and his face is buried in the carpet that smells like a weird mixture of shampoo and oil.

“Are you alright?” Kaworu calls, and Shinji hears the click of a door shutting. _Go away._ He shudders. There's a shuffling in the carpet, and soon a presence directly to his right. A rustle, and a hand on his shoulder. “... Did you trip?”

Into the carpet, he nods, smushing his nose into a flurry of tiny, woven fabrics. Kaworu snickers, airy, and at this Shinji turns his head, glaring at the boy sidelong. Then, he remembers himself, and immediately bolts to his knees. Kaworu blinks in surprise. Shinji stares at him, looking rather like a deer caught in the road, eyes big, heart pattering, pattering... and again, like the time he had leaped from the car, he's not really thinking anymore. It's as if his body has gone on its very own form of autopilot; a shield, perhaps, the protect him from the things that simply cannot be confronted.

His feet are under him. He's stiff as a tree, eyes never blinking, and like a really, really energized rabbit, he bolts toward the door and takes a right, launching himself into the bathroom and slamming the door. His feet tremble, and he falls back, colliding with the door and sliding to the ground with a long, drawn-out squeak.

Deeply, he breathes, staring at his reflection in the pristine white tiles on the floor. His eyes are wide, beaded. The planet turns, turns, and it revolves, it goes so fast that he can't keep up and his head is a mess, and then he realizes that he's just locked himself in a hotel bathroom, and he's treating his friend like some sort of dangerous, escaped convict. Instead of thinking himself an idiot, though... he thinks himself the same as always. Perhaps, that's where his problem lies.

The room is silent. As far as Shinji can tell, Kaworu has not moved at all, and he's all alone. Maybe he left. Maybe. No. There's a rustle, and a crack. A joint moving? This isn't a horror movie, calm down. But no... steps, quiet. And a gentle knock on the door. Shinji doesn't say anything. The silence is so still, it almost hisses, like it's trying to tell him a secret. The world must know some secret that he doesn't to force him to live this way, honestly...

“... Really, are you alright?” chimes Kaworu from the other side of the door. Shinji huffs like a bull. The toilet paper is folded into a cute little triangle. It pisses him off. The porcelain of the bathtub is chipped. This, too, pisses him off. “Ah, I should have asked how you'd like to room, I'm sorry... do you get nervous in hotels? So does Matarael, after the incident of '99 so I'm told. The maid thought he was a spider, and--”

Shinji stops listening. He shakes his head, pulling his phone from his pocket. The battery is low... Still, this is important. The internet loads after far too long. His fingers shake, but all the same, he searches, searches... oh, a dictionary.

_Wink: to close/open one eye, usually very quickly._

Well. That just solves all of his problems, doesn't it. In hindsight, he should have known, but still, he only wants to know the semantics of blinking one's eye, of being clever and secretive and throughout his entire, entire life, winks have always been a _sexual_ thing and holy shit, holy shit--

“Do you like chocolate?”

His thoughts stop. There's a thud on the door at his back, and another, awkward squeak. If he interprets the sounds correctly, Shinji surmises that Kaworu is sitting on the other side.

“It says there's strawberry, caramel, or chocolate, and I've always considered chocolate the default. Do you like it?”

Befuddled, Shinji looks over his shoulder, as if he's going to see anything more than a textured white plank.

“Wh-what?”

Kaworu shifts, and the door jiggles. Shinji hears a tapping, and soon there's a shuffle, and through the crack under the door slides a laminated slip of paper. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it's a room service menu... ah. Sundaes. Ice cream in winter, always the best. Although, he feels sick to his stomach. Without a word, he slides the menu back under the door. For a moment it's gone, before Kaworu slides it back. The tips of his fingers show for just a second, but soon they're gone. Despondent, Shinji blinks at the shiny menu. Kaworu rests, still, on the other side of the door.

“I'm sorry if it's something I did or said.” Kaworu tries. He rests the side of his face on the door, hopeful. “Really.”

Shinji twitches. Kaworu feels it in the door, and his eyebrows draw downward.

“Did I do something...?”

“You _know_ what you did.” Shinji mutters. Kaworu pauses, pensive. He bites his lip, and looks down in thought. The threads of his jeans are beginning to wear.

“I... is it... I honestly don't.” he says, stammering confusedly. Then, realization occurs. Oh, how could he have been so foolish. “Oh, I-I'm sorry I didn't ask before kissing you again, I should ha--”

At this, there's an audible groan from behind the door. At a halt, Kaworu blinks.

“Kaworu we've _had_ this talk.”

“I know, but--”

“How do you not know?”

“I... I don't know.” Kaworu says. Really, he's beginning to feel frightened. What could he have possibly done? Will Shinji ever speak to him again, or... he hadn't realized how much of a panic would rise from such a situation. This was never calculated, this was not...

“In the elevator.” says the boy on the other side of the door, hushed, wavering. Between them and under the door, someone's shadow moves, though they can't be sure whose.

 _Elevator. Elevator._ As far as he knows, nothing of significance had happened in the elevator. Lifting a hand, Kaworu scratches his nose. “What about the elevator?”

“You...” Shinji breathes. His face is a deep red. Had he been wrong? Oh, god, he had been wrong and look where he is now-- well, they still _are_ sharing a room, so it's a least partly justified, but just how many times is he going to embarrass himself, how many until--

But what does a wink mean? … Maybe he had something in his eye. He can tell that, just through a hunch, Kaworu is starting to feel restless. “I? What did I do?” he asks, and his voice is so thin. Oh, well, _now_ Shinji feels like an asshole.

Thinking for a moment, he grabs the menu and slides it back to Kaworu. “I'd like chocolate.” he says, plastic. Kaworu doesn't say anything in reply. Slowly, Shinji takes a breath. The triangle on the toilet paper isn't so infuriating anymore.

Don't get yourself hurt, he had said, and here we went... Oh, but, really, this isn't anything major. Just, well, horrifically embarrassing.

With a deep, resigned sigh, and _boy does he hope he's right about being wrong_ , he gets on his knees, waddling away from the door. Presumably, Kaworu hears him, for there's a little shuffle on the other side. Shinji turns, before opening the door inward, gingerly, in an effort to not make the other boy fall on his back. He nearly does, anyhow.

In astonished question, Kaworu blinks a pair of wide, red eyes Shinji's way. He plants one hand on the carpet, and turns a little, twisting his back. The dark-haired boy purses his lips.

“Are you okay?” Kaworu asks again. _God, stop being so nice, you idiot._ Shinji purses his lips and draws his eyebrows downward, scowling. “I'll take that as a no.”

He continues to waddle until he's sitting in front of the other boy, his knees bent. Dryly, his eye twitches. Is this totally all his fault? He doesn't know.

“What are your plans?” he asks, careful. Kaworu doesn't say anything. “You said you had something planned. What is it.” Shinji nearly grits out, trying in vain not to sprint back into the bathroom and hide his burning, burning face. Kaworu lights up in understanding.

“Oh, right.” he breathes. “Well...” he starts, grabbing the menu from the floor and allowing himself a tiny, hesitant smile. Shinji eyes it with caution. “In secret I brought some money so that you and I could have a movie marathon! The TV does that... that _thing_ with the orders. Also, ice cream.”

Of course. _Of course._

“I also considered throwing all the pillows on the floor and making a--”

“Pillow fort?”

“Pillow fort!”

Subdued, Shinji shuts his eyes and sighs. Then, he looks over his shoulder at the room. Yes, a TV, as well as an armchair and-- two beds. _Two beds!_ Oh, never has he been more relieved.

“We could do that, yeah.” he says, still staring at the _two beds_.

The carpet rustles under the other's weight, and Shinji turns back to him. Kaworu wears a wry smile, but his eyes are still unsure. “What was that all about?”

And the tingling red returns to his cheeks. “Nothing.”

Kaworu lifts an eyebrow.

Shinji's stomach flutters, his heart doing somersaults and his mind a whir. “Really, nothing. I just panicked at nothing.”

After just a moment of thought, Kaworu seems to acquiesce. His eyelids grow lower and his smile turns into a pensive scramble. Then, he shrugs, slow. Shinji shudders.

_I guess I'm the one with my mind in the gutter._

 

O

 

Chocolate, indeed. Too much chocolate. A bowl of melted chocolate with one scoop of ice cream on top. While some people might argue that that's even better than a plain sundae, Shinji is not one of those people. All the same, he's entertained as he watches his friend react to the various stunts of a horror movie about _centipedes_ , of all things.

After only a few moments of nursing his bowl of chocolate syrup, he sets it aside, not paying any attention to the movie, really, and placing his arms on the duvet they're currently sat on. His legs are stretched out in front of him, his head reclined on the edge of the bed, while Kaworu is to his right, lying on his stomach and watching the television screen with fascination.

“I didn't know the spine could bend like that.” he says, entranced. Shinji, unimpressed, blinks a pair of sluggish eyes at the screen.

“I don't think it can.”

Kaworu nods, resting his chin in his hands. He kicks his feet into the air, swinging back and forth. Then, he's quiet for a few moments. Of course, a few minutes is still just a few minutes.

“What's the fake blood made of?”

Shinji eyes the back of Kaworu's head. Then, he looks back at the screen.

“Yogurt, probably.”

Kaworu stares a moment longer. Then, in a craning, uncomfortable manner, he peers over his shoulder. “I was thinking cake batter.”

“That's... specific.”

“Red velvet, definitely.”

 

O

 

The second movie is a comedy about people who walk dogs. It occurs to them both rather late that all the hotel has to offer is really, really weird cinema, but neither one of them have ever been the sort to care about that. Now, Kaworu is lying on his back, his arms spread wide, watching the movie on his back. Shinji is still in the same spot, although now he has his arms folded.

As an on-screen dog proceeds to run through a field of menacing men with nets, Kaworu twitches. Shinji doesn't pay it much mind, that is, until he notices that the pale boy keeps doing it. He twitches, creasing the duvet the slightest bit, one second after another, squirming, squirming, and after nearly an hour of this, Shinji realizes he's turned an almost forty-five degree angle.

 

O

 

The third movie is a documentary about eels. At this point, Shinji is less than surprised. In fact, he's so unsurprised that when Kaworu, the conniving, evil genius he is, twitches for the final time, he hardly acknowledges the reason why he had been doing it in the first place. Shinji stares at an eel squirm around on screen, bored, sleepy. A weight. Oh, well, okay. That's fine. Drawn low, he blinks. The top of his backrest is soft, but the bottom is metallic and hard. Dumb hotel beds. Kaworu's head is on his lap. That's not sneaky at all, you idiot.

Wow, that eel is cool. It has little specks on the side that glow. The next one is orange. To Shinji, this is actually turning into the most interesting movie thus far. To Kaworu, evidently not, as upon glancing downward the dark-haired boy finds that the fair-skinned boy has been staring at his chin for who knows how long. Shinji's eyes flutter between the screen and his friend, before they finally settle downward. Kaworu wears a sweet smile, his lips upturned, curved, in the smallest angle, and his eyes like glass. Truly, an expression of naivety, Shinji thinks.

“What?” Shinji asks. A little something, like a shake or a shudder, runs down his spine, and he can't be sure why. Kaworu blinks, slow.

“Hm?”

“You're staring at me.” _At a really unflattering angle, too. I hope you can't see up my nose..._

Kaworu looks just a moment longer, before his head turns, hair fanning out on the other boy's jeans. His eyes once more watch the screen, a mess of blue sea. The narrator of the documentary has quite a soothing voice. Shakily, Shinji sighs. Not surprised, he's not surprised, not even fazed... not bothered.

 

O

 

Bothered. The movie is over, and he's left in a dark room lit only by the beige menu of the TV. Old-fashioned, pixelated cursive letters, just like the very first DVDs. Bothered, and the vapid, white moonlight is filtering in behind a cheap set of moth-eaten curtains. Gentle breaths, rhythmic, like a metronome, in time with something ethereal that Shinji can't quite place.

Kaworu is quite still in his sleep. He hardly moves, but for the occasional twitch of a hand, or a noticeably stronger breath. Of course, one would be tired after racing down a mountain to save their awkward friend... ah. He's too nice for his own good.

Shinji stares down at the boy, feeling a little spooked in the room, not quite alone but feeling lonely. It all smells of chocolate. It all does. Again, he gets those chills. Yes, definitely bothered. He finally has time to think.

The boy in his lap is far too sweet. Too sweet for him, really. Too far, yet he still... His heart jumps. At every chance it gets, it does this infuriating little dance that makes him weak in the knees. Of course he's bothered. He's bothered because he cares about Kaworu but he doesn't care about himself, and he knows, oh, he knows that such a thing will not bid well. Yet he still...

Kaworu sighs in his sleep. He sighs, and he stretches out a bit, turning in a way that's hardly noticeable.

He still does. Shinji thinks, he still does, does _care..._ no, he knows that's not the word, but he knows that uttering the word, whatever word it is, will break him then and there. He doesn't mind Kaworu on his lap, leaning on him, kissing him. None of it is bad. It makes him flighty, but it doesn't upset him. The television flickers. So does his resolve.

Don't hurt him, don't hurt him, don't... don't. _You're already hurting him._

His soft features, his... oh, are these tears?

Quietly, Shinji gasps. _No, don't cry. This is fun, don't cry. This is more than what you've deserved in years. You have nothing to cry about. You're lucky. Other people don't have what you have. You got lucky. Just leave it as it is._ His head leans back, proper on the mattress, an unhealthy angle, and he stares at the brand new popcorn ceiling. There's still a gentle weight. Little vessels of water drift, down the sides of his face and into his ears. In his socks, his toes curl. _What are you crying about, you idiot. What are you crying about. He's here with you now. You can't have him, but he's here with you now and that's what the world decided to do, not what you deserve. So don't cry._

And that's just it.

What did he do that's so bad? He exists. Maybe that's why he's crying. He didn't do anything, he's just... he's not enough. Kaworu sighs again. It's warm. “ _And he says you're wonderful_.” whispers thought.

Finally, Shinji allows himself to rest his spine, looking down again, gingerly raising a hand to wipe at his face. Thank god Kaworu is asleep, otherwise this would just be added onto today's list of humiliations.

The TV turns off. It must have some sort of automatic timer. The room is dark, black, empty. He's alone with both his kind thoughts and his self-deprecating thoughts. How sick he is, not of being alone, but of being lonely. _It's fine, it's fine, you've lived your entire life this way_. It's not fine.

It's not fine. It's not fine. It's not fine. It's existing, it's not enjoying. That's not okay anymore. _And you can't just run away._ But I can if I want to badly enough.

A lever's been pulled, and it all wells up again, his docile tears wake with excitement and race down his cheeks once more, alone in the dark. A firing, an impulse, and he's bent into two, twin rivers seeking refuge in a bed of silver hair. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Maybe.

In an instant, Kaworu melts awake. His consciousness brought back by... by a pressure, like an umbrella, something over him that he can't see, but that he can feel the warmth of. Wetness, and a shuddering breath.

“Shin... ji?” he murmurs. He can't see anything. Where's the light? He tries to sit up, and limply, the weeping boy lets him. Kaworu rubs his tired eyes. “What's going on?”

A small whimper resounds, and he's there within an instant. Kaworu's hands float around in the air, searching for something, anything, and after just a frantic moment, colliding with the other boy's dripping face. “Ah, I'm sorry, I--”

“ _Kaworu--_ ” And still, he's there, recovering flawlessly and not missing a beat. His hands are around a soft face, brushing tears away with his thumbs and feeling breath, quick yet slow, but always frightening, always an enigma.

“What happened?” he asks, wishing he could see something, anything, but knowing that Shinji probably prefers it this way. In response, the boy only shakes his head, which worries Kaworu all the more. He's about to go through the rituals, the _breathe deeply, it's all okay, you're okay, you're safe, do you need something, how do I react to a random panic attack someone help me react to--_ before his actions are mirrored, and a pair of hands, about the same size as his own brush the sides of his face in the dark. All thoughts cease, and only the gasping, wheezing breaths of the other boy fill the silence. And a set of fingers brush through the hair on the left side of his face, and he tilts, his eyes wide, his lips parted, not concerned with his expression. Only shocked.

Shinji's breathing slows. It's less riddled with sniffles and filled with shudders. It's loud, still, but it's dry, and Kaworu, at least, thinks this is progress. Still, he continues to wipe the boy's tears away, albeit distractedly.

“ _Kaworu._ ” is uttered again, hardly more than a whisper. The boy in question feels like crying a bit himself, now.

“Yes?”

A swallow. It's audible, and they're both wordless, alone in the dark. “Can... can I...”

“... Yes?” the pale boy's heart starts to pound on his ribs, begging to be let out. The skin of his arms is turned to frost.

“Can I kiss you?”

Yes. Yes, _definitely_ a yes. The answer to that question is so much of a yes that he can hardly answer, can hardly keep it in his head enough to formulate it and make it into a word, it's its own law, chaotic and spinning around the room like an atom and here are some more deep metaphors courtesy of--

Evidently, he had said yes anyway. That, or Shinji had given up on caring. Either way, like a trap snapping shut, or a drape rushing closed, his lips are on his, pushed forward by a gust so powerful that it may as well have been his own will. Kaworu's breath seems to rush out of his body, his hands now poised awkwardly behind the boy's head, left behind by his enthusiasm-- and, and then he feels the carpet at his back again, and tears, like a leak, are falling from the other boy's eyes and onto his face, sliding into his own fringe and his own ears. Kaworu's hands lie limp beside his head, weakly twitching his fingers, before he finally gives in and pulls the other boy flush, gentle, soft. For just a moment, he feels his warmth, wholly.

And then they both let go. In the dark, Shinji pulls back, quiet and easy, but reluctant. Kaworu lies still on the floor, his arms wrapped around the small of the other's back. He can't see anything. He wishes he could see. The silence is broken by a whisper.

“I'm sorry.” Shinji murmurs, on the point of breaking again. Kaworu decides to stay quiet. There's a rustle at his neck, and a brush, another head of hair resting between his shoulder and the carpet. The dark-haired boy breathes a shuddering breath. “I still feel, I still...” he repeats, blabbering. In response, Kaworu just tightens his hold, mirroring the other's actions and tucking his head into the crook of his neck. He can feel him shaking. His heart hurts for him, just a little bit.

With the troubled boy, whispering words of everywhere and nowhere into his collarbone, his neck, his ear, they fall asleep like that, waking up in the morning with two rotten, grotesque headaches that convince them both to stay indoors for the day.

 

O

 

Ice. Ice, ice, ice. Looking for an ice machine on an icy mountain. Terrific. Shinji surmises that the good thing about hotel hallways is that only the pompous will judge for a lack of shoes. Although, this is a pretty cold hallway. Still, he knows he looks like a sock-clad, grumpy dwarf wandering around the hall, ghostly, holding a metal pail and a gloomy aura. At least he's not Kaworu, the errand boy sent to find painkillers.

Oh, is that an ice machine...? No, that's a soda machine. Dull, Shinji turns on his heel, marching slowly and robotically to the opposite end of the hall. Ice. _Ice_.

 

O

 

Ice!

Now, the bucket makes a distinct sloshing sound as he walks with a slightly better gait. Granted, he still feels like hell, but for a moment it's as if hell has turned into a hot spring. He takes a left, walking down the hall, before taking a right, and walking down that hall. … Oh, their door is open. Has Kaworu returned? There are stars above his head.

Shinji approaches, slow, catatonic. His head, while covered in stars, is a cloud; not quite fluff, more of a wisp. He begins to hum a scratchy song, turning into the room with dark circles under his eyes, sunken and lifeless, and-- _why are there trolls throwing pillows everywhere what the­--_

Apparently he makes a sound. The things stop, turning their beady little heads toward him. One, with its blank gaze poised on him, sets a pillow back down on one of the beds. The other one, who is orange, tilts its head, too, eerie, synchronized. Shinji nearly drops his ice bucket. The two strange creatures begin hopping again, rather resembling a wild pair of monkeys, before jumping toward him. He yelps, but the attack he's expecting never comes. No, instead, they wind around his legs and back into the hallway, mirroring each other's every move. For a while, Shinji stares after them, before going back to looking at the room.

It's unkempt from the night before. Blankets on the floor from their little fort, pillows piled in odd places... but all worth it, really. He thinks. Maybe. They'll clean it up later.

Shinji sets the ice on a bedside table, and bounces onto one of the sheeted mattresses. As they have countless times thus far, the events of the previous night float through his head, double-edged, meaningful, _embarrassing_. He looks up at the ceiling again. That is, he tries to focus, before he notices something jagged digging into his hip. A pillow. But, wait, pillows don't do that. Silly pillow, his headache thinks. Shinji picks up the thing by its case, haphazardly tossing it onto the other mattress, before his eyes fall back to the spot where it had rested and.

And.

He sort of spasms, jumping away from the spot as if it's toxic. Maybe it is, he doesn't know. Like a frightened cat, he backs away from the spot, his eyes wide, his face melting, melting, growing in vermillion and flaming in mortification. A box. A box wrapped in plastic, has been placed under the pillow, presumably by those strange monkey-troll-things.

A box, yes. A box, of... of, of, of, of... he can't even think the word. Thinking with his fear, Shinji launches forward, grabbing the box by its corner and sprinting to the other side of the room, yanking, yanking, pulling the window open, and throwing it into the air. Ah, look how the box sails, before gravity does its work and it falls to the ground.

 

O

 

“The strangest thing just happened to me.” Kaworu says upon returning, trying to stay chipper despite the nagging in his head. Shinji jolts.

“What!”

“... What?”

“... Nothing. Go on.”

Kaworu gives him an odd look, before setting a bag down on the same table as the ice bucket. He licks his lips, chapped, sitting across from the other boy.

“Luckily there was an old convenience store running just down the road. They had painkillers, but then...” he reaches into the bag, shuffling around. “I was walking back into the hotel, and something hit me on the head. This box... where is it...”

Curious, Shinji watches Kaworu try to sort through his own headache. The bag rustles and crinkles, artificial plastic whining as it's stretched, until finally the fair-skinned boy produces a, well, a box. A familiar box.

“I'm about ninety percent sure they're balloons. But I've never heard of this brand before... _cone-dome_? Must be someone's name. Hey, Shinji, can we blow them up and--”

“ _AaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!_ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is messy I tried to edit to the best of my ability but I'm realllyyyy tired bc I really wanted to update tonight. I'll look at it some more when I wake up tomorrow. Thanks for understanding. On the bright side, this is a really long, kind of really important chapter to make up for the wait. 
> 
> shaun r u ok bud  
> eat a snickers pls


	15. Breakfast Butt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I had some personal issues going on for a whole week there. Want some eggs? I personally am in the mood for cocoa pebbles.

Tiny, tiny mountains, canyons, and ridges. That's what a giant slab of ice is, and, indeed, it is a truly surmountable feat to overcome a mountain. Especially a mountain whose veins were carved by those before, whose very structure was given by the first to venture upon what was once a plain.

God, he can't even walk. Every step taken drags with it a brand new angle for the bones of his legs to accommodate, a brand new twist for his ankles and dent for his pride. Shinji's not surprised, though. Of course, walking is hard when one tries to balance their entire weight on two thin, sharp slivers of steel. He doesn't even want to know what it will feel like when he sets foot on the ice.

And then there's Kaworu, too afraid to stand. Wobbling, Shinji remains still in front of his friend, watching him tremor as he stays planted firmly on a lone bench. The air smells a bit like smoke.

Actually, Shinji is sort of getting the hang of it. Then again, he's just standing there... Kaworu lifts his head, worriedly staring his friend in the face. Immediately, Shinji laughs out a small puff of air.

“I believe in you, Kaworu.”

The boy in question blinks and half his lips quirk into a frown. Today, he's wearing a marshmallow coat, whose cushions have more body than most pillows do. It's a very mellow pink, like a salmon. For some reason, it reminds him of soap. Or flowers. Or, well, a salmon.

One can tell that Kaworu is trying his hardest to get used to the idea. His feet are sort of meandering back and forth; he's trying to balance them while he sits. In the form of a reply, all he does is continue to stare up at his dark-haired friend.

“I thought you weren't afraid of heights.” Shinji tries, his tone abnormally gentle. That is, soft, as it usually is, with an odd edge of warmth.

“This has nothing to do with heights.” Kaworu murmurs, finally shaking his head and looking down at his own feet. “This has to do with falling, _on ice_. The _on ice_ makes it sound much more traumatizing. Falling is one thing. Falling on ice is something else entirely. And falling _in--_ ”

“Have you fallen on ice before?”

“Yes.” says the boy, deadpan. “It's traumatic.”

Shinji blinks. “What happened?”

“Gaghiel likes to go ice-fishing.”

“Okay... then what?”

“Then I fell.”

“Oh.”

Kaworu let's his gaze float again, peering at the boy standing in front of him. “It was horrible.”

Shinji allows his cheeks to fill with air, before he blows it outward. Kaworu is still looking up at him like he's a star on a dreary night. The dark-haired boy scratches behind his neck, before waddling over to sit next to the other boy.

“Then why did you suggest this?”

If Shinji weren't so oblivious, he'd have noticed the way Kaworu's expression turned into an embarrassed scramble. He doesn't, though, and the bright-haired boy proceeds to swallow a lump that's been stuck in his throat for a few moments now.

“I want to overcome a fear.”

And in a way, Shinji kind of understands. That is, he's the sort of person to go ride the bus for no reason other than riding the bus, even though he hates riding the bus. Maybe Kaworu is the same way with ice-skating. Then again, that would be an incredibly inconvenient fear, whereas a bus...

“Do you want to do something else to calm down?” he asks, patient. Kaworu's hands tangle with each other in his lap. He shakes his head. Again, Shinji sighs.

“Okay. I'll wait.”

 

O

 

Half an hour, maybe. Shinji is dawdling on his phone. Kaworu sighs a quiet sigh. “I'm going to do it.”

“Huh?” to be honest, Shinji had forgotten where he was. Kaworu looks at him sidelong.

“I'll do it.” repeats the boy, clenching a fist in comic determination. “If you hold my hand.”

Shinji blinks. His lips have formed into a tiny 'o', and his eyebrows slowly draw downward, while his eyes widen, and soon enough he resembles a cherry. “Oh.” Kaworu's eyes lift shut in a smile. He waits, gentle, and Shinji just continues to balk. Then, the boy clamps his mouth shut and glares, before mollifying his temper, sighing, and patting his cheeks in an attempt to cool them. “You're ridiculous.”

Kaworu's smile turns shy, small. He shrugs his shoulders lightly. Shinji stares at the boy in what he tells himself is true, pure disdain. … No, never mind, he can't fool himself. Honestly, this boy is to cute to exist. Maybe he really had come from another planet. Nevertheless, Shinji hands Kaworu his phone (as his own jeans have no pockets), and stands once again, at first wobbly but after a moment becoming tall. Kaworu continues to gaze at him with that meek, sheepish smile.

He stands in front of him again. The sitting boy still doesn't make a move.

“Well?” Shinji blurts, exasperated. Kaworu opens his eyes once more, big and questioning.

“Is this a yes?”

“This is a hurry up before I change my mind.”

At this, Kaworu takes just a moment to comprehend. That is, before he lifts both arms, like a child wanting to be carried. Shinji stares at him, deadpan. Then, he stares some more. So much staring has stemmed from this relationship; honestly, it's ridiculous.

Nearly stumbling over his own skates, Shinji snatches one of the boy's hands quite ungracefully from the air, holding it in front of himself like it's a glass of water at an uncomfortable party. Truly, he's such a romantic. Kaworu's eyes are positively glistening.

“Okay.” Shinji says, his grip around the other's palm more forceful than anything. “Now, stand.”

The pale boy's throat moves snakelike in a gulp, and his cheeks gain a small flair of pink. Shinji tries to remain composed. He keeps his expression frozen in an exaggerated stasis of a frown that looks more like a pout than anything else, and he tries, he tries so hard not to laugh or smile or anything of the like. Why, though? Why is he trying so hard, exactly...

Kaworu returns the grip, although his hold somehow manages to be a lot softer despite his current state of terror. It's a little stupid, Shinji thinks, how pale Kaworu's hands are in comparison to his own. Like sheets, really. Shakily, Kaworu rises, looking a little bit like he's wearing stilts instead of skates. He wobbles, an odd number of angles as he tries to correct his footing. Shinji stands still, cold.

That is, until the other boy actually slips, and his other hand launches into the air to cover the one that's being held. His face is an absolutely magnificent red, now. Admittedly, Shinji is having a bit of trouble supporting both of their weights. On skates, nonetheless, and it's no surprise when he, too, stumbles, feet teetering left and right, and then in a fit of struggling they both fall back onto the bench, four hands a cluster between them as they take in the situation.

“I think we should do something else.” Shinji suggests, looking at the plain of ice only steps away. Kaworu breathes, winded from an ordeal that was surely stressful for him.

“No.” says the boy, fervent. “I need to stop being afraid.”

Shinji quirks an exasperated eyebrow.

“What's the worst that could happen?” he asks. To be honest, this is a little out of character for someone like Kaworu...

“I fell _through the ice_.”

“... What.”

“When Gaghiel and I were ice-fishing. I didn't just fall _on_ the ice, I fell _through_ the ice and into the water. I've been terrified ever since.”

“You could have said that earlier.”

“I tried to, but it's kind of embarrassing.”

Of course, Kaworu is the sort of person to be embarrassed over a near-death experience, isn't he. Shinji gives him a blank look. This boy had nearly died, and he's embarrassed. Wow. “So, we're here because...”

“Because I want to get over this fear.”

“Right. Then why can't you stand where there isn't ice?”

“... I don't know, exactly. But I begin to shake, and...”

Shinji doesn't mean to, but he sighs, inadvertently interrupting the other boy. Kaworu shuts his mouth and stares at the completely empty sheet of ice, morose. Apparently, skating isn't very popular. After a bitter, awkward moment, the dark-haired boy stands once more. This is really weird, he thinks. He feels like he's dealing with himself instead of Kaworu.

“Let's try again.” he says, and to cover for any sort of inappropriate nerve, he averts his eyes from the other boy. There's still a stare, though, and he can feel it boring into his chin. There it is again, the unflattering angle, _you can totally see up my nose_ , oh, stand up already, please--

And there's a hand wrapped around one of his fingers, that had been resting lazily at his side. Oh, right, yeah, okay. That, too. Trying to ignore the slow climb of his cheeks toward an inferno, he pulls his hand free, before wrapping it around the other boy's. Again. Oh, god. Breathe. In, out, in, out.

“There isn't any water under the ice.” Shinji says, wobbly, uncertain, and most of all, artificial. “You'll be fine.” His eyes flick from right to left, anywhere but forward and down. “The worst that can happen is we fall...  _on ice_ . Which is so much worse than falling normally.”

Kaworu has the spirit to laugh dryly. He returns the grip once more, putting weight on his feet, forward, forward-- and, really, Shinji isn't doing anything but letting the boy hold his hand. It never occurs to him that he should actually pull him up, because he needs to go at his own pace, but, still. Still, that... that didn't make any sense. Shinji really needs to stop letting this guy get his way, because, really, it makes him lose any ounce of coherence that might have existed at some point in time, and--

Then there's a palm on his shoulder. A palm whose fingers spread and hold, bunching up his sweater-- oh, yeah, he's wearing a sweater today-- and Kaworu's nose is about level with Shinji's collarbone. Indeed, he is shaking, and out of the two of them it's a mystery who's quaking more. Thank god there aren't a lot of people around. Thank god. But, but then, then, that nose that was only a second ago level with the spot just below his chin, jolts forward, and it bumps directly into the front of Shinji's neck, and he stumbles, stumbles, stumbles in _skates_ , no less, but he regains his footing, and soon both of the Kaworu's hands are grasping his shoulders. Shinji keeps his hands in the air, alarmed. He quite literally feels Kaworu blink, which is a weird sensation coupled with the chilly tip of his nose.

“Sorry.” the pale boy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Maybe today is opposite day. Yeah, that would make a lot of sense, actually.

Kaworu tries again, his weight still completely depending on the other boy. Shinji stands stiff like a board, his vision wide and somewhere far away. He feels hands hold tight to his shoulders, and the nervous boy pulls, pulls away, and soon he's standing just an inch, perhaps less, above the dark-haired boy, albeit shakily. Shinji decides to come back to Earth right then.

“Oh. Good job.”

“Thank you.”

And they stand there. Awkwardly. Shinji wonders if Kaworu knows how awkward this is. Or, well, how awkward _he_ is. How awkward they both are? Who knows. Either way, the situation is awkward, and Kaworu still hasn't taken his hands off his shoulders. The shorter boy clears his throat. Kaworu only blinks. Shinji sighs.

“Are we going to go, or...?”

“...”

“Kaworu?”

“I think I'll fall if I let go.”

Shinji tightens his brows, scrutinizing the boy with just a tiny amount of annoyance. Although Kaworu's hands are weighted, they're not nearly heavy enough to be supporting his entire weight.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

Shinji shakes his head and grabs one of Kaworu's wrists, pulling it away from himself with only a slight scowl marring his face.

“You didn't fall.”

Kaworu blinks. “You didn't let go.”

Shinji lets go. Kaworu blinks again, one hand in the air.

“You let go.”

“I sure did.”

Kaworu gives Shinji an odd look, before sniffing and taking his other hand away from the boy's shoulder, trembling only slightly. He gazes down at his own feet, clad in a pair of dark purple skates that are somehow lifting him a margin away from the ground, and his throat tightens. Right. He can do this.

 

O

 

“And I was never _paid_.”

“He offered you 10,000 yen and never _paid you_?”

“That's right.” Kaworu says, one hand taut around a frigid guardrail, the other held snugly by his friend.

“I think he's my least favorite, by far.” Shinji says, delaying himself for Kaworu's slow pace. Skating isn't all that hard, he finds, once one gets the hang of it. Really, it's quite surprising that he's the one without a single hand on the rail. The only problem is the living, breathing weight holding his hand, and, well, it's a pretty amusing problem, so that makes it okay.

“I don't think he meant anything by it.” Kaworu supplies, stumbling, the blades beneath his feet creating a comical squelch.

“Still.” Shinji grumbles. As it turns out, Kaworu's chilling near-demise had actually been a dare. Gaghiel, who Shinji has yet to see, although he's certain he looks like something out of a horror movie, had dared Kaworu to dunk his head in the ice-fishing hole, and the ice had broken beneath the both of them.

“It's alright. I mean, he _did_ save my life. I can't swim.”

“Neither can I.”

“Really?” Kaworu exclaims, gaze flipping to Shinji. In a feat of distraction his skates glide forward smoothly, but only for a second. Composed, Shinji nods. Kaworu beams. “I'm going to take you to the beach.”

“Wait, wha--”

“Wahh--”

The thing about skating is, it's vital that one should keep their feet apart from one another, and lean their torso forward, creating a weight to propel the blades forward. And, well, this is the exact opposite of what Kaworu had been doing. He had been stood straight, tall, with his feet bunched together, slicing the ice this way and that in a series of deeply cut parallel lines. So, it's no wonder that he would stumble eventually. However, what is a wonder is the way in which he manages to stumble.

Shinji is sort of reminded of the first day he ever laid eyes on Kaworu, toeing carefully around all the people in a truly overwhelming crowd, scanning the ground for anything in particular. Except this time, it's _on ice_ , and in a matter of just seconds, he, too, feels himself catapaulting toward the ground, pulled by Kaworu's relentless grip. 

Kaworu lands on his stomach in a sort of horrible, horrible belly flop, and Shinji finds himself balancing on one foot, rocketed harshly to the side, and soon he loses his coordination, making impact with the boy's back and thus hearing a breathy wheeze.

But, but that's not the worst part. No, the worst part is the second sound, the tear, the rip, oh, the shame. For, of course, Shinji manages to cushion himself with his side, which, unfortunately, isn't much of a cushion, and his leg grazes the blade of Kaworu's skate. And, of course, the blades of an ice skate are, well, sharp. Pants are made of fabric, too.  _ Riiiiip,  _ says his pants, and quite literally all of his pride.

They lie there for just a moment, Kaworu's face plastered into the ice and Shinji gaping in mortification. He hasn't seen the damage yet, but he, well, he can  _ feel _ it, and that probably means it's really, really bad. 

“... Kaworu.”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good.”

“HmhmmmHHHm.”

“Oh. Oh, I need to get off you.”

“Mmhm.”

“Sorry.”

And he does. He crawls, really, minding the blades on his feet and trying not to wound anything or anyone with them. Bare hands on ice are unpleasant, he learns the hard way, although he knows he should refrain from saying anything, being as how Kaworu's entire face was just slammed into said ice. The pale boy sits up slowly, rubbing at his nose, yet, oddly, wearing a smile. 

“That didn't hurt at all. It was just cold.” 

“Good.” Shinji says, patting aggressively at the back of his own leg. He searches, searches, up, up, keeping a deadpan facade so Kaworu doesn't notice, maybe it's not so bad, maybe it's just torn at the back of his knee or something, and-- oh, it's bad. 

There's a smack. Shinji doesn't realize it's a smack, before it's too late and he's been given his own metaphorical death sentence, for that smack, that smack, which was supposed to trail up the back of his leg and explore the extent of the damage he couldn't see, went up a little too far, and before he's realized what he's doing he has, well, to be frank, slapped himself in the ass. While sitting on a sheet of ice, in front of his friend. Interest. Friend? Whatever. Either way, he'd have rather been hit by a truck. And, of course, Kaworu had been looking at him at that exact moment, and now his eyes are wide like saucers and his lips are frozen into a perfect circle. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at Shinji, who proceeds to grow red enough to melt the ice they're perched upon. 

“Uh.” begins the dark-haired boy, lifting his hands into the air.  _ Oh my god. Oh my god, what is wrong with me.  _ His arms begin to flail this way and that, like he's fighting a swarm of ornery bees. “You did not just see that!” he cries, scooting his legs behind himself to hide the tear that rides up his entire pant-leg. Honestly, how is this all possible?

Kaworu blinks, and he opens his mouth wide to say something, taking a breath, before closing it again. “Hm.” he hums, murmurs, whatever, Shinji doesn't care, he's just got to think of a way to explain himself.  _ Just tell him what happened. No. No, because then-- _

“I was checking for my phone!”

“You made me carry your phone because your jeans have fake pockets.” Kaworu supplies, his face a splash, no, a typhoon of confusion.  _ Oh, my god, there is actually no way to get out of this. I'm dead. I'm so dead. Goodbye, world.  _

Slowly, Shinji looks at the ground, giving up on both the situation at hand as well as his life. Kaworu clears his throat, getting to his knees and scooting forward. “Are you feeling alright?”

Shinji doesn't respond. Kaworu frowns, although he's still very, very surprised. With the dread of a thousand exams, Shinji forces his gaze upward, slowly, horribly, and looks piercingly into Kaworu's eyes.

“Kaworu, I ripped my pants.”

“...”

“The whole back. It's ripped.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah. I was checking for the tear.”

“That... is a relief.”

They're both frowning, Shinji grim, Kaworu puzzled. 

“The skates did it.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Really, in their pauses, one might hear a pin drop. 

“What do you suppose we do?” Kaworu asks. 

“I... don't know.”

“Did it... did it go through everything, or...”

“No.”

“Oh. Then... it's not  _ so  _ bad, is it?” Kaworu says, his shoulders wandering upward in a hopeful shrug. Shinji looks down, hiding his face. A question mark rolls through Kaworu's head like a tumbleweed. “What is it?”

The dark-haired boy only twitches in reply. Worried, Kaworu moves closer, craning his head downward to look Shinji in the eye. His face is absolutely crimson. “Kaworu, it's really the whole leg.”

“Okay, well...” Kaworu begins, crawling behind the other boy to survey the damage. Upon reaching his destination, his eyes light up. “Hey, I have the same pair!”

“ _ Kaworu shut up oh my god-- _ ”

“Sorry, sorry.” he says, managing a laugh. Indeed, the entirety of the boy's jeans, from ankle to toosh, is mauled, massacred, finished. Still, Kaworu can't get over the ridiculous coincidence that they have the same pair of boxers, considering this pair in particular is pattered with eggs, bacon, and other breakfast necessities. Hey, maybe he has the pair with the puppies that came in the same pack. Still, he winds back around to the boy's front.

“Not even a sewing machine could save them.” he says, morose, yet horribly amused on the inside. Shinji shakes his head.

“I told you.”

“Ah, well...” Kaworu tries. “Somehow, we have to get back to the hotel without the staff kicking you out.”

Shinji nods. Kaworu tilts his head. “Or, we could explain what happened, and they'd probably just--”

“No. No, no. No. Nooo. Nohoho.”

“.......... Okay. Then, we're going to need to be sneaky about this.”

 

O

 

Never once had Shinji signed up for any of this. He blames Kaworu, completely. Definitely, without a doubt, all Kaworu's fault. Yep. 

Of course, everything  _ would _ seem like Kaworu's fault when the boy in question is quite literally draped over his back like a really, really pale cape. The two walk slowly, perfectly in step with one another, so that Shinji's breakfast boxers will not be discovered in a public place. Oh, god, what is his life coming to...

Anyway, the light-skinned boy's arms around his neck sort of feel nice. Maybe. If he weren't wading through a foot of snow, in skates, and wearing one-legged pants, he might be enjoying this on the inside. Sadly, though, this is not the case, and instead they look like a peculiar four-legged animal limping through an arctic tundra. 

“Can't see them?”

“No.” Kaworu affirms, trying so, so hard not to smile. Soon, the targeted building, and thus the skate rental shack, are in sight. 

 

O

 

Sitting. Sitting, well, sitting is an adventure, an ordeal, a really, truly daunting task. It occurs to both of them, under the watchful eye of the attendant, that they will need to sit in order to remove their skates. Sit, as in... well, sit. But.  _ How _ . 

Horrified, Shinji looks over his shoulder, and in response Kaworu shrugs a shrug that Shinji can actually physically feel on his back. So sneaky, these two. 

The bright-haired boy chuckles a little. “You could, hm, sit on my la--”

“No.”

“Thought so.”

_ … Would that really be so ba-- _

Yes. Yes, it would. That thought no longer exists. Bye-bye. In a seething fit, Shinji breathes in, out, before whipping his head upward and addressing the attendant. 

“What's that over there?!” he cries, pointing to the corner of the room. Funnily enough, the attendant, a girl, he notices, actually looks. In this split second, Shinji darts over to a bench (which is award-worthy in skates), sitting with such a lack of grace that the thing nearly tips over. When the girl looks back, she blinks, confused. Luckily, she doesn't say anything. The two boys set about removing the death-traps that conceal their feet. 

 

O

 

“You fit nicely.” Kaworu decides to say as they wait for their elevator. Shinji's neck is getting kind of sore. He counts the seconds until their elevator arrives, so that he'll finally be free of this prison. Prison. Right, okay. Wasn't he just saying it felt nice a few minutes ago...? No, he would never. 

_ Likewise, so do you _ .

That was the wind, and its cousin the snow.

Shinji readies his arm, pulling it forward and jutting out his joint so that he can successfully elbow the other boy in the ribs, but-- no. He doesn't. In the end, he just sighs, even when Kaworu's nose nudges the back of his head. 

 

O

 

“See, same pair.” Kaworu chirps, hopping into Shinji's line of sight. Indeed, he's twirling a pair of breakfast boxers on his finger, beaming happily. 

“Kaworu...” Shinji grumbles from his perch atop one of the beds.

“Yes?”

“You are waving a pair of your boxers in front of my face right now.”

“Yes.”

“...”

“...”

“Incredible.”

“I know, right?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "... Now I learned a lesson I won't soon forget  
> so listen and you won't regret  
> be true to yourself   
> don't miss your chance  
> and you won't end up like the fool... who... ripped... his... PANTS!"


	16. Headfirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing that I can really say.

This is the first time he's seen it snow since he's arrived. That, really, is quite a surprising feat, but nonetheless the record is shattered as Shinji stands just outside the hotel with his palms cupped to the air like dishes. There's no sun anymore.

Anyway, he's supposed to get hot cocoa, which is just across the way. The icy ground packs tightly under his weight. The last cup, he had been told, before they're set to embark home tomorrow. Which, really, isn't all that horrible of a thing... but a pretty depressing one, nonetheless. He reasons with himself that he'll certainly relieved, yet at the same time he knows he'll feel sad for a day or two, because that's just how his mind tends to work. Too much conflict, honestly, and as he pushes open the warm wooden door of the cafe, he thinks he'll just have to put with it yet again.

Yes, of course, never has he been completely happy with anything in his life. Only ever has be been one to pine.

 

O

 

One good thing is that the padded cups in his hands are like portable heaters. Not a bit of exaggeration leaks into his thoughts as once more he heads back to the hotel, stepping in his own footprints, because why not. They really should shovel these walkways. Then again, he wouldn't bother if he worked here either. After all, the point of the whole place is the snow, so why bother getting rid of some snow...? As he walks, his thoughts proceed to ramble on just like this, dazed and off somewhere wide. Alternately, if the point of having a lawn is to grow grass, then why does one bother mowi-- ah, that's a door. A glass door, inches away from his face. Great.

It's only now that he realizes he doesn't have any free hands. For just a moment, all he does is stare into the handles of the door. Then, he lifts his gaze, allowing it to fall upon the girl behind the desk within. She's standing, straight and without a hint of feeling, her eyes glued to something on the surface. One of her hands appears, and Shinji realizes when she flips a page that she's reading quite a large novel. Feeling only a little guilty, he taps on the door with his elbow.

As expected, she looks up, her eyes fluttering twice. Shinji smiles a small smile, lifting one shoulder for means of a haphazard, handicapped wave. Silence, as she stares.

She looks back to her book. Almost instantly, Shinji's friendly smile vanishes. He pouts, staring at the girl as her cherry red eyes scan a line of words. Oh, it looks so warm in there. Sighing, he takes a risk, clenching one of the padded cups between the crook of his elbow and his midsection to free a hand. With only a slight stumble, he opens the door, but not without sloshing just a tiny bit of cocoa into the snow.

Once inside, he tips the cup back into his hand, huffing away the cold and shaking the snow out of his hair. The girl doesn't even spare him a glance as he passes.

… But, he pauses. Oh, yeah.

“You were working at the haunted house.”

A page flips. He looks over his shoulder at her, and upon sensing his gaze she peers upward, stone-faced. She blinks, and Shinji becomes nervous.

“Oh, um... I mean, did you ever... wow, this is a weird question. Did you ever work at a haunted house?”

The girl parts her lips, before tilting her head to the side in a habit similar to Kaworu's. There's a moment in which she seems to think. “No.”

Shinji shudders. “Oh.”

She continues to stare at him.

“Is that all?”

At this inquiry, Shinji looks away immediately, feeling a bit of sweat gather on the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” he says, shaking his head once more and heading to the elevators. She only blinks at his back as he steps away, before going back to her book.

 

O

 

Upon knocking on his own door, Shinji deflates at the fact that there's no immediate answer. He stares at the wood and the brass golden number at its top, feeling a bit like a delivery boy.

A slight bump resounds from inside. Startled, Shinji puts his ear to the door, knocking with his elbow again. Scalding chocolate sloshes around in his hands.

A stretch of silence.

“Just a moment!” Kaworu finally calls from within, and Shinji hears another clatter. He shuts his eyes and sighs. Everything seems so exhausting, these days... that is, until there's an abrupt clamor of footsteps, left, right, left, right, and soon the door draws inward and all he can see is orange.

Stepping back, Shinji blinks rapidly, losing yet another drop of chocolate. Huh. It's been a while since he's seen that color. Behind the orange, is Kaworu's smile, a little shy yet definitely boastful.

“Hi.” Shinji says, still regaining his bearings.

Kaworu's eyes shut sweetly. “Hello. Look, I made a rabbit.”

And finally the dark-haired boy's eyes focus on what's right in front of his face. An orange... thing, that's what it is. A thing. A tubular thing? He can't really tell. With almost a bit of force, he blinks, feeling the muscles around his eyes crinkle. A... a balloon animal?

“Wow, that's... great.” he says, completely puzzled. The creature has a tiny face drawn in black marker, and even a dangly little nose at the tip of its head. “Here.” Shinji says, handing Kaworu his chocolate.

“Thank you.” he says, a grin still in his voice as he turns and takes a sip, his new pet held gingerly in his right hand. Earlier, they had decided to just stay in for the day. This had been done with quite the plethora of excuses and tact, as the true reason had been that Shinji is a little too traumatized to go outside after the pants incident. However, he's also far too stubborn to admit as much, and so the words had never been brought out into the open. He shuts the door behind himself.

At last, he takes a sip of his own chocolate. By now, it thankfully does not burn his tongue. Without a thought he treads into the room, heading straight for the window to peer at the snow.

“Do you think it's snowing back home?” he asks, idle. The floor creaks as Kaworu moves somewhere.

“Probably. This mountain isn't very high.” is the reply, before there's an audible sip. Shinji makes a noncommittal sound. His reflection in the evening fog is a touch more interesting than the slow descent of snow, and so he begins smiling at himself in the window just to pass the time.

Maybe he's only happy with things when he doesn't realize it.

“They moved my performance.” Kaworu says, out of the blue. Shinji loses his smile and turns, but the moment isn't quite gone because his pale friend is sat on the edge of a bed with a bright orange rabbit in his lap, and that in itself is happiness enough. He's wearing a meek little grin, though, so this can't be any bad news.

“Huh?”

“It was originally in a week, but they extended the wait due to some incident. It will be in a month.”

“Oh.” Shinji says, simple. He takes a sip of his chocolate. “Is that bad?”

“No, I was just letting you know.”

“Why?”

Kaworu proceeds to mess with the rabbit in his lap, waving its inflatable paws this way and that. His head cranes to the left, as if he's trying to stretch the skin of his neck. Finally, he lights into a slight smile.

“I wondered if you wanted to attend.”

Shinji blinks, before taking a sip of his cocoa and continuing to stare at his friend. “Sure.”

Kaworu looks down at his rabbit, his lashes covering the entirety of his eyes. “Okay.” he says, setting the hand that had been playing to his side. Then, he blinks, looking up again. “Wait, really?”

“Sure.” Shinji says. _Things aren't so bad, are they? The snow is still falling._

Kaworu's eyes are wide, like bulbs. Then, he melts into a genuine smile, becoming half-lidded and serene. “Okay.”

Shinji turns back to the window.

It's quiet, but only for a moment.

“Hey, Kaworu?”

“Hm?”

“Where'd you get a balloon?”

“Oh, the box that fell on my head.”

“The... the what.” Shinji says. He continues to stare at his reflection. Still serene, still serene.

“The box of balloons. I looked up a tutorial on how to make a rabbit.” says Kaworu, matter-of-fact. “It's cute, isn't it?”

“...”

Kaworu makes a sound of confusion. Shinji stares at his own face and smiles. Smiles, smiles. Okay, his cheeks kind of hurt. He turns to the right, setting his cocoa down on a side table, stiff and robotic. He can feel the other boy's gaze digging into his back. Deeply, he breathes.

“Those aren't balloons, Kaworu.”

“Oh, what?”

“They aren't. Balloons. Kaworu.”

Shinji hears an odd sound from behind, sort of like a squeak of rubber. Simmering just below the boiling point, he turns one-hundred-eighty degrees, staring his friend in the face with such intensity that Kaworu twitches back a little bit. His hands toy with the rabbit, and it squeaks again. “What are they?” he asks, innocent, rabbit in one hand and chocolate in the other. Shinji feels his eye twitch. He still wears a sickly smile.

“Condoms.” he says, biting the bullet.

Kaworu doesn't really react.

“Condoms.” Shinji repeats. “It says so on the box.”

“Oh, I was pronouncing it wrong?” is all Kaworu says.

Shinji can feel steam racing from his ear canal. He opens his mouth, taking in a shaky breath, before clamping it shut once more. His heart is racing, just a little bit.

“Kaworu those are for  _sex--_ ”

And just like that, the rabbit-maker bolts to his full height, wheezing just a little and throwing everything in his hands elsewhere. The rabbit lands uselessly on the ground, while the chocolate, it... it goes over his shoulder, sloshing all over the bed. He more or less ambles over to Shinji, partially hiding behind him as if something is about to attack him.

“ _Intercourse balloons_ .” he whispers in a panic, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

Shinji hadn't noticed he'd let his mouth fall open. After a moment, he shuts it, before he catches any flies. He can feel the tension of the other boy behind his shoulder.

“Now you're  _afraid_ of it?” 

Kaworu switches his weight between feet nervously, eventually allowing himself to lean on the same side table that carries Shinji's chocolate. “I... that just surprised me.” he supplies, and when Shinji turns he notices the other's face to be horribly red. He gives him a bleak look, eyebrows risen, and Kaworu hunches his shoulders together.

“Are you  _sure_ you went to high school?”

“Private school!”

At this, Shinji merely clicks his tongue, shaking his head and sighing. He surveys the scene with mild indifference. The rabbit lies lifelessly on the floor, its thin, orange skin a lot less shiny than a balloon would be in this lighting. However, it's then that his surroundings really rush to his head. 

“Ah.” he begins. Kaworu is still staring at the rabbit. “You got chocolate on the bed.”

“I... I what?”

“You got chocolate on the bed.”

The pale boy, too, seems to veer back to reality, for his gaze at last moves from the rabbit to the mattress. Indeed, there is a brown stain, oblong in its shape and aggressive in its size. The cup in which the chocolate had originally resided is tipped uselessly on its side, crushed just a little bit from the excitement. 

“Oops.” he says, simple. Shinji sighs. 

 

O

 

Yeah, that's a problem. Neither of them had really considered it to be one at the time, but now it most certainly is a problem, Shinji thinks as he pulls the sheet off the bed in order to survey the damage. Of course, the cocoa had bled into the mattress. Hotel mattress. Ew. Quickly, he throws the sheet somewhere by the door and huffs in irritation. Kaworu had, unsurprisingly, apologized endlessly for getting chocolate on his temporary bed, and while Shinji had had no choice but to forgive him, he's no less bitter about it. 

“Did it get under the sheets?” Kaworu calls from somewhere in the bathroom. Shinji hears a tapping noise, before the sink turns on. 

“Yep.” he says.

“Aww.” The faucet turns off. There's a sort of a shuffle, before his face peers around the bathroom door, shining with water. “Do you think they'll charge us ex--  _oh_ , yes, yes they will.”

“Yeah.”

How much extra is the real question. That, as well as the elephant romping around the room: just where is he going to sleep? 

The other boy toes over, wiping at his face with his hands. He gazes at the stain in what looks like fear. Shinji glares at it with fire in his eyes.

Kaworu makes a slight humming sound, and turns his head to look at Shinji. The boy in question doesn't look back and only continues to stare at the stain. 

“You can have my bed.” Kaworu says, and this seems to shock Shinji out of his reverie. 

“Huh?”

“You can sleep on that bed tonight.” he rephrases, throwing a gesture over his shoulder. Shinji turns to peer at the bed in question, before looking back at Kaworu. 

“Why?” he says, out of confusion rather than actual question. In his head he slaps himself, because of course he knows why. 

“Because I ruined yours. It's not your fault, I'll sleep in the bath.”

“You'll... you'll what.”

“Sleep in the bath.” Kaworu reaffirms, already gathering the cocoa-free comforter from Shinji's bed into his arms. He snatches a pillow off the floor, too. For just a moment, Shinji only stares after him as he pads calmly into the bathroom. Then, he follows. 

“Why...” he stammers, thinking. He can't sleep in the  _bath_ , of all places, can he? Couldn't he go room with a sibling, or... oh, he's being selfish isn't he. And, as always, Kaworu is being considerate. “Why the bath?”

“I know for a fact that the bath is quite comfortable.” he says, throwing the fluffy comforter into the tub and bunching it up into a sort of cushion. He then sets the pillow on the wall opposite to the spout. 

“That's a lie.” Shinji argues, weak. 

Kaworu looks up from the task as hand, his lips parted. He blinks at Shinji's red face. Always red, isn't it...

“No.” he insists. “I fall asleep in the bath all the time.”

“But there's no water...” Shinji trails, still trying to... he doesn't know what he's trying to do, actually. All he knows is that he feels bad for Kaworu wanting to sleep in a  _bathtub_ . 

“I'll manage.” says the fair-skinned boy, turning once more and ruffling up the comforter just a bit more. “If I don't sleep well, I'll sleep on the way home tomorrow. It's really no problem.”

_Or, you know, you could sleep on the floor, like a normal person. Ah, but he's not much of a normal person, is he?_

“Kaworu, are you sure?” Shinji tries once more. He feels meek, but he knows that the other boy would move mountains for the sake of being kind. 

“Yes.” is the reply, and with it comes a smile. When he smiles, his features seem to melt in the most natural manner...

_I wonder if he smiles at everyone like that_ .

 

O

 

Shinji's phone has always been an awful flashlight. Usually one would assume a device so pricey to have one built in, but unfortunately, he had not been so lucky.

The ceiling, despite all its efforts to be different, is still just as unattractive as it was before, popcorn bullets and all. His flashlight, next to his arm on the mattress, creates weak, tiny concaves on the side of every bump. He doesn't know why, but he had felt like he needed some sort nightlight. He had never liked being alone in rooms that weren't his own. Or had he? He doesn't know, it's two in the morning. He doesn't know a lot of things.

There's a sound in the bathroom, the slipping of fabric. He wonders if Kaworu is sleeping. If he is, he'll laugh about it later when he realizes that he, the one in the bed, hadn't even been able to shut an eye.

Maybe he could play some games on his phone and grow so bored he'd eventually doze off. 

Yeah, actually. That sounds nice.

 

O

 

This mattress is so sweaty. The comforter is littered uselessly on the floor now, but he still can't stop kicking his legs. He's not sure how he's sweating so much, being as how the temperature outside is something frigid and ungodly, but he is, nonetheless, and with the events of his life thus far he's not really surprised. 

Something clamors on the floor above. Then, a series of footsteps.  _What are you doing awake? It's three in the morning. … What am_ I  _doing awake..._

Back home, back to school, back to work, back down the mountain in a van filled with snarling beasts. Ah, that's what he's doing awake. Another rustle resounds from the bathroom, and he thinks it's a given that he can hear something so small in this pressing amount of silence. Quiet is pressure, yet, but so is noise, and so he concedes that nobody can ever win.

He stares at the ceiling some more. Then, he turns on his side. This is so stupid. This is  _so, so_ stupid. 

Guilt, maybe? No, probably not. He decides within himself that it's most certainly dread keeping him awake. His arm is asleep, emulating television static somewhere deep in his bones. The stain is clear even in the dark, although it appears as an ominous shadow. Now that he thinks about it, this whole building smells a bit like chocolate, doesn't it? Chocolate and soap and vegetable oil. What a weird combination. 

There's another slip in the bathroom. These noises are beginning to sound a tad too much like a metronome. 

Everything is so awkward that it kind of hurts. Of course, he couldn't even swallow his own pride and sleep in the same bed as him... His ribs seem to tighten, clenching his chest and thus his breathing into a tiny funnel. Really, what's his problem?

 

O

 

Five. Five in the morning, he can see the sun and he can feel a sauna in his eyes. Five in the morning, and coincidentally, he has five hours until their alarms will go off at ten. It's probably about time he went back home, anyway, to dump any excess excitement out of his head. Things like this, vacations or treats, or, well, anything that scratches the surface of abnormality, always tend to throw his head in a sea of clouds. A sea of clouds in which things aren't really real anymore. 

A slip in the bathroom. This is the first one in an hour. Kaworu must have finally found sleep. 

But it's stupid. None of that matters. He couldn't give two shits about the norm if he tried. Ugh. Shinji stretches one arm into the air, watching it extend like a pole. He kicks his legs again. Finally, he sits up, bringing life again to his numb spine. The backs of his hands slide limply along the pristine white sheets. 

Sometimes, he really hates himself. 

His legs slide, like weights, until his toes touch down on the floor. He's not doing anything, just sitting. And standing, nothing to it. 

Idiot.

He forgets his phone, walking on dead feet toward the bathroom. He gives up, okay? He gives up. He's not sure what he means by it, but right here, at this very moment, somewhere in the recesses between five and six, he gives up. Of course, the door isn't even closed. That's why he had heard everything. 

Kaworu is asleep, from what he can see. Then again, all he can see is one shut eye and the mess that is his hair, shrouded partly in a cocoon of blanket and partly in the dark. From the slight glint of the brand new sun, he can see only half his reflection in the tiles on the floor. 

Nothing can ever work out well, that's all. Shinji drops to his knees, before slowly waddling over to the side of the tub, his eyes drooping a truly frightening amount. He braces two hands on the chipped porcelain edge, before sighing through his nose and allowing himself to sit. 

There, he stays. 

When Kaworu sleeps, his lips are drawn apart just the slightest bit and his eyes are shut so freely that one might think he'd never dreamed anything bad in his life. Slowly, and with a prominent amount of vexation for himself, Shinji blinks. No, that's too cheesy. Maybe he's just the sort of person who looks like he enjoys sleeping. There are people like that, right? … He envies them.

Again, he blinks, slow like a drunken, hazy drawl. The bathroom is a lot colder; the sweat on his back feels like a vapid puddle rather than a heated drop. 

He's watching him sleep.

It's no wonder he couldn't possibly handle being in the same bed as him if he's going to be so creepy. He doesn't trust himself. 

Shinji's eyes shut once more, and they stay there. They melt, and he embraces the cold of porcelain in his cheek. Really, he's given up, but that doesn't mean he can't resent himself. 

_You can't even recognize the point when it's right in front of your eyes._

His legs draw together, and he's starting to see a myriad of triangles and figures. How nice. There's a ghost in his head and it tells him to open his eyes. Oh, but, this is so nice. He's finally letting himself be taken by slumber. 

_You're totally missing the point of all this._

Another slip, and then there's a ghost on his arm. Since this one's a touch more convincing, he listens, and his eyes dart open only to be met with a pair that's darker than the nightly shadows. 

Oh, my. Red doesn't shade very vibrantly, does it? It's definitely deep. 

Kaworu's eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes themselves are sleepy crescents. He blinks them, gingerly like a cat, and draws the hand back that he had placed on the other boys arm to scratch at his collarbone. He's sat up now, his face visible and his hair a mess. Shinji's eyes are so wide they're burning. He's been caught.

“Are you alright?” Kaworu murmurs, already-soft voice laced with a veil of sleep. Shinji can't find his own words. One of the pale boy's sleeves slides around the curve of his shoulder as he places his weight on one arm, concerned, ruining his perfectly-crafted blanket cocoon. 

Shinji's feelings slip into something indiscernible and his own shoulders crawl up to the height of his neck in a misplaced shrug. Unsurprisingly, Kaworu blinks in confusion and continues to stare with one eye more open than the other. 

He's not disgusted. That's what's inhibiting his words, the fact that Kaworu didn't react in any form of negativity toward the idea of someone watching him while he slept. It's an odd shock that kind of makes him feel bad for literally everything that happened up until now, and he has absolutely no idea why.

No matter how hard he tries, there'll never be disgust, will there? 

Apparently he looks upset, because Kaworu himself looks quite sad. The sleepy boy cranes his head downward to get a good look at Shinji's face. “You're not alright, are you?” he whispers. 

“I'm fine.” Shinji breathes, resolute. 

Calculating, Kaworu lets his eyes open a bit and peers into the other boy's. After a moment, he blinks and lets his eyes shift to the side, smiling just a little bit. He knows it's not any of his business to ask. “Okay.” he says. 

Shinji too peers to the side, before he looks at Kaworu again. The boy with the pallid face hasn't stopped staring at him. And, although Shinji isn't surprised, he's embarrassed as the one who once stared proceeds to drift forward and into his space. 

A warmth presses into his fringe. He shuts his eyes tight, and pretends he can't feel a rush of breath ruffle the hair atop his head. Kaworu presses forward so that Shinji leans back the slightest bit, before the feeling is gone and he's being stared at again.

That had been his first kiss that was anywhere but on his lips.

Shakily, he sighs, drawing his gaze to the floor again. It's okay. 

It's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay.

… It's okay. 

“Can you move over?” he whispers to the floor.

“Hm?” 

“Can you move over?” he asks again, looking up this time. Kaworu's smile turns into something else, something that doesn't really have a meaning, before it flattens itself into a line and is jostled with a nod. Shinji looks at him for a moment until Kaworu actually moves, which is when he shuts his eyes tightly again. Afraid of nothing, as usual. 

The silence beckons him awake once more, and with a deep breath he slides upwards, fumbling to get one tired leg over the other, let alone the ledge of a tub. Cautious, he avoids stepping on Kaworu's legs as the boy himself lies back down, eyes just a little bit wider than usual. Shinji makes a tiny, sleepy humming sound as he lowers himself, resting his weight on the side of the tub and sitting partially, carefully atop the other boy's thigh, before losing any sort of grace and tiredly allowing his top half to fall fully into a warm nightshirt. 

At last, he breathes, despite the fact that his nose is crushed crookedly to the side. Delicately, trying not to make any sudden movements, Kaworu closes his cocoon once more, letting his arms rest atop the other boy's side. The comforter ruffles around quite a lot, but in the end they both seem to find their closure, Kaworu with a gentle, welcome weight, and Shinji with something that almost feels like the abstract concept of contentment. 

He discovers, right at this moment, that Kaworu smells a bit like dust, and a bit like the quiet freshness of flowers. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rami woke them up by turning the faucet on cold. Anyway, I like this one.


	17. Is It Saxy In Here Or Is It Just Me? Either Way I Can't Calm Down When I'm Around You Anymore And That Makes Me Sad But This Turned Out A Lot Better Than I Thought It Would -A Novel By Kaworu Nagisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been following me on Tumblr you might know why this is so late. Haha, well I'm just gonna drop this here... I can't be bothered to edit right now I just wanted to post the dang thing. I'll proofread in the morning but as you know it doesn't make much of a difference, my typos are immortal.
> 
> O
> 
> The freshest oxygen I ever inhaled.

The bathtub is one thing and the car is another. Like the average person, Shinji isn't really a fan of jostling the side of his head on a car window as it descends a mountain slope. This is precisely why he wears a grumpy frown for most of the drive, and why his skull is throbbing just a bit when they arrive back in town.

At least, he thinks to himself, the ride home is a lot more subdued than the ride there had been. That is, everyone but himself and the driver, who appears to be a sentient pair of floating luminescent wings, is asleep. Normally, this wouldn't be strange, because, of course, after an exciting trip to a freezing venue, one should be rightfully exhausted. However, Shinji sits with his hands bunched into his lap, the side of his head being crushed against the window by the outrageous number of passengers, and his mind being equally as crushed by the shocking genre of music roaring and bellowing from the radio: death-metal. And they're all sleeping through it. Shinji's eyes are wide and utterly petrified as he stares at the void in the distance.

Kaworu murmurs something in his sleep and shifts just a bit, his hair ruffling into the other boy's shirt, and Shinji thinks he can feel something wet on his shoulder.

O

“Sometimes...” Shinji begins. “You look at a bunch of people.” He still thinks that Kaworu's room is astonishingly normal.

Kaworu spares him a glance, listening. His eyes are tired as he pulls a wrinkled shirt out of his bag. He nods.

“And sometimes you think. Hey, I bet those people aren't very tidy.” the sitting boy continues, watching listlessly as Kaworu throws that same shirt over his shoulder and into a forming, misshapen pile. “But sometimes you look at one person and think the opposite. There are some people who just have to have clean houses, you know?”

“I suppose.”

“I really thought you were one of those people, until you drooled on my shoulder and started throwing clothes around your room.”

Kaworu throws a long, striped sock behind himself. He stares at nothing for just a moment, before turning to Shinji and blinking slowly. Shinji stares back, a little deadpan and just a tiny bit amused. The bright-haired boy then cranes his head and looks behind himself, his eyelids drawn low. He seems to register the mess he's created.

“Ah.”

Shinji has his arms to his sides, palms resting on a red, plaid duvet. It's at this point that he finally notices the lack of enthusiasm within the other's demeanor. Still, he watches curiously. Kaworu digs into his bag once more and proceeds to pull out a scarf with tiny flowers on it. He turns, then, walking on his knees toward the pile and using his arms to scoop it into a more orderly mound. The scarf is dropped atop it all.

Then, he drifts forward, and his face plants itself into the pile with an airy floof. Shinji blinks, alarmed, before gingerly standing and climbing to his knees as well.

“Er...”

In a sort of reply, or perhaps a siren to tell the other that he's not dead, Kaworu hums lowly, long and drawn-out, muffled by an array of unwashed clothing. Shinji sits, next to the clothing and atop his own feet. Kaworu's shoulders slump in an unusual sigh.

“... You okay?” Shinji tries.

Another sigh. Shinji furrows his eyebrows.

“Not okay.” he says, deciding by himself, lips downturned into a puzzled frown. Kaworu draws his own knees in further, curling in on himself. Shinji begins to pat the boy's back with hands stiff as boards-- yeah, he's never been good at the whole comfort thing. That's been established. But, anyway.

“No...” he hears Kaworu murmur through a mouthful of fabric.

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Mmmh.”

“No what?”

Kaworu turns his head to the side, enough that only part of his face is visible. Shinji can only see one of the boy's red eyes, and it's hardly open, barely a sliver in his skin. “Nothing is wrong.” he says, but he's betrayed by his own feeble voice.

Shinji lifts both eyebrows and continues to stare. Kaworu, at last, shuts his eye and his lips crinkle into a tiny smile. “Honestly. I'm only sleepy.”

“You slept the whole way here.” Shinji says, growing more doubtful as the seconds pass. Although, he does find it a bit silly that Kaworu had chosen to use the word 'sleepy' instead of a simple 'tired'. How... fitting. Cute? Okay, fine.

“I know.” the pale boy breathes. “I'm not sure why either.”

Shinji bites the inside of his cheek, before he puffs out a breath and leans down to Kaworu's level, his face near the floor. “Could it be...” he whispers, teasing, surprised at his own antics. The very flesh behind his eyes tingles in a positively lighthearted manner. “Because you slept in a bathtub?”

Again, Kaworu's eyes slide open, and he smiles, his shoulders actually bunching up in a little snicker. He then yawns, face squeezing into something kind of silly, and when he does so he covers his mouth and lazily sits up again, sort of rocking back and forth before steadying himself.

His head lolls to the side, and his feathered hair drops messily, kind of like... snow, or something, clinging to tree branches and all that. And he's smiling, of course. Of course.

“Must be something like that.” says the sleepy boy. Shinji feels his own eyes crinkling in a sort of dumb smile in return, before his gaze shifts to the carpet out of habit. It's quiet for just a moment before Kaworu finally moves, breathing in a slow breath. His hands find the floor and he lazily crawls around the other boy, before climbing atop his own plaid-ridden bed without even bothering to get to his feet. He lies face-down for only a second before completing a sort of awkward, silly twirl, rolling onto his back before his side, facing outward. Shinji watches his antics with a bland expression, that is, before Kaworu stops moving and proceeds to stare at him with a pair of half-lidded languid eyes. One hand is under his cheek, and the other is laid out aimlessly atop the mattress.

It's after just a few more seconds that Shinji finally feels himself grow a little red. Kaworu is really good at staring...

“What?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

The boy proceeds to smile once more. This time, though, it's a small smile, and he shuts his eyes with a little jostled shrug of his shoulders. The arm that's extended outward slides back, making a soft sound atop the duvet. And it's quiet.

Shinji stares himself, although his gaze is quite dry by comparison. After a series of moments Kaworu's breaths begin to even out... and Shinji begins to frown. He's not sure whether it's socially acceptable to lie down for an abrupt nap when one has company over, but... nor has he himself ever been one to care about etiquette.

What now, though? He thinks maybe he ought to head home... it's not too horrendous of a walk, right? Shinji stands, the joints in his legs popping quietly. He rubs at his own eyes, realizing that he too is quite tired. Time to get home, then. Kaworu would understand.

His weight on the floor isn't much, and he pads over to the door, turning the knob in a manner so carefree one might think he was a completely different person. But, but then. Then comes actually opening the door, and on the other side lies something that no one could handle, not even on their most courageous day.

An assault on his ears is the first warning, dizzying and insane and... well, insane. It sounds a bit like an orchestra gone awry, a clamoring of cymbals and a banging of drums, and it turns out that this very image isn't all that far from the truth. After a moment his eyes see through the shield of sound and he's affronted by a scene as hilarious as it is frightening.

Sachiel is once more the center of attention, his tendril of a leg extended gracefully into the air as he blows air into a large golden instrument. A saxophone, indeed, a very eager saxophone, blaring a confident noise into the air and making Shinji stare in both awe and horror. Oh, he picks the strangest of people... And then there's Ramiel off to the side. Ding. Ding, ding, ding. She plays the triangle. Ding, after every roar of the saxophone. Shinji is so tired.

Without a word, the blue-eyed boy steps backward, quiet, shutting the door with only an insignificant click. There's a rustle behind him, and he turns, only to see Kaworu's face partially shoved into the duvet, all squished and silly. His breaths sort of whistles when it leaves his system.

Shinji blinks lowly, shaking his head and once more taking in the peace of the room... he yawns. It seems as though he's going to be stuck here for a while, and, of course, he wouldn't dare wake Kaworu up. From beyond the walls he can hear the jamming of a saxophone.

 

O

Carpets are really itchy and he should have expected as much. They sort of tickle but mostly they're irritating, little bits of twisted fabric confetti digging into his skin and creating a red, pink, weird kind of tattoo that doesn't make any sense and is going to last a while.

Though, that's not the only thing that's going to last a while. In the hall outside Kaworu's room, his siblings are still creating quite the horrific clamor. Shinji holds his phone toward the ceiling as he lies on the floor, swiping this way and that and browsing everything simply because he is superbly bored.

There's a clatter in the hall, and afterward a blood-curdling screech. Normal happening here, probably. Shinji decides to pay it no mind, of course, and in the moment he does so his mind is elsewhere, so he's scared out of his wits when there's a brush on his arm.

A small, shrill sound escapes him and his head whips to the side, where he sees Kaworu lazily hanging half his body off the bed. Shinji remains wide-eyed for only a moment before he returns to normal and lifts an eyebrow in silent question. Kaworu smiles, which looks a little odd because he's upside-down. His forehead is completely visible and his hair nearly touches the floor.

“You're staring at me again.” Shinji says. “Do you feel better now? You've been asleep for like an hour.”

“A little dizzy...”

“That's probably because you're upside-down. All the blood is rushing to your head.”

“It feels like it could just fall off--”

“Oh, the sax stopped.”

Kaworu blinks. “What?”

“Your brother stopped playing the saxophone.”

“He was playing? I'm so sorry.”

Shinji peers at the door, before turning a small, sardonic smile Kaworu's way. “I accept your apology.”

The red-eyed boy stays suspended for a little while longer, before dragging himself back onto the bed. There, he stays. After a moment, Shinji begins to pout.

“If you're just gonna sleep, can I go home?”

“I'm getting up.”

“Right.”

“I am...” Kaworu murmurs, turning toward the boy again. He's frowning, just a bit.

“Really?”

“Yes. There's something I wanted to show you.”

At this, Shinji blinks in a small amount of surprise. Ah, so Kaworu had invited him for some reason other than to sit there while he napped. How kind. Shinji puts his palms flat on the floor and proceeds to sit up himself. He yawns, and for just a moment he realizes how Kaworu feels.

That moment is soon over, though, because even after that Kaworu still does not move from his loafing position.

“Heeeey.” Shinji says, low, almost a whisper. Kaworu's eyes slip for just a moment, before he at last sits up and finds his feet, albeit reluctantly.

“I still don't know why I'm so sleepy...”

“You slept in a bathtub.”

“So did you.”

“I'm used to being tired.” Shinji huffs, stubbornly stationed on the floor. If Kaworu is going to be lazy, then so is he. After all, he’s used to being tired, as he had so confidently stated. “What were you going to show me?”

Kaworu’s eyebrows lift in something light-hearted and well-meaning for just a second before he pads across the room, stepping loosely over Shinji, who watches him with a feigned variety of disinterest. The fair-skinned boy heads to a dim, remote corner of the room, digging around and under his bed, evidently looking for something. After just a moment of this, he proceeds to pull a rather familiar, albeit dusty, electric piano from underneath his bed. The sides of his hands immediately set upon wiping all the dust away. At last, Shinji decides to at least sit up. This, whatever this is, is worth his effort, probably. Kaworu is good at what he does, anyway.

After the keyboard’s weathered black surface is free of any gray, Kaworu seems to sense the other boy’s questioning gaze, for he looks up and lets loose a sleepy, sweet smile. He then pats the spot next to him on the bed rather enthusiastically at first, before subduing himself and looking back at the keys before him. Best not to be too forward.

With only a small bit of hesitance, Shinji swallows both his pride and his useless trepidations and gets to his feet for only a moment, before he perches himself next to the other boy. To distract himself, Shinji gazes restlessly at the piano’s keys. It looks no different than the day he bought it, as far as he can tell. There’ll never be disgust.

“Why’s it all dusty?” he asks, trying to fill the metaphorical gaping space in the air. Kaworu clicks his tongue.

“Well there’s the vacation, and even before that I was rather distracted by other things.”

“Oh.”

“And now I only have a month to practice… Firstly I’d like you to listen to me play for the first time in a while without any practice and tell me on a scale of one to ten how awful it is.”

Shinji feels the muscles of his cheeks pull into an invisible smile. “I’m sure you sound better than you think.” he says, quiet, an almost uncharacteristic moment of reassurance. And it’s almost, because in this past while Shinji has grown much more prone to being kind. Or, well, kinder than what’s necessary to not be tossed aside by society. At least, he tells himself as much… thinking too much, again. Kaworu bumps him with his shoulder, and Shinji can’t tell whether or not it was an accident.

There’s a moment of stumbling in which Kaworu rights his hands on the keys, clearly nervous. He purses his lips before letting loose a breath that makes his fringe do an excited flip.

Using his index fingers, he pushes in a single, ebony key, as though he’s a toddler curious about the thing before him. Shinji lifts an eyebrow, shifting his seat. A few months at most that he’s been out of practice, so why is he so shaky? As he observes quizzically, Kaworu’s throat bobs in a nervous swallow, before he tries to poke three keys in a row. A deep breath. Shinji is beginning to grow concerned.

At last, Kaworu starts to play, but after the first few notes ascending into a high, he flubs it, palm slipping just enough to skim the edge of a key to the left. Of course, he stops, staring with his eyebrows furrowed at the instrument. Shinji blinks.

“So left is low and right is high?”

“Yes.” Kaworu says, blinking back to Earth. He peers sidelong at the dark-haired boy, who smiles hopefully. At this, Kaworu’s shoulders, which he just now notices had been drawn tight, relax a little.

Without thinking, Shinji extends an arm toward the piano. Kaworu’s gaze follows as the dark-haired boy points to one of the black keys.

“What’s the difference between these ones and the white ones?”

“The pitch is slightly different.” is the reply, automatic. With a bit more dexterity than before, he presses one black key inward, and immediately afterward he does the same to a white.

“Oh.” Shinji says. Yes, they are different. One is just a bit more dull than the other, somehow… “Are you going to try again?”

Kaworu darts his attention back to the piano and allows himself another gulp of air. Shinji had hoped that talking about something, anything, would have put him back in balance, but it seems that today something is most certainly amiss within the pale boy’s behavior.

“I should.” Kaworu says. He peers intensely at the keys before him, and presses one, long, drawn out, concentrated. Its sound stops after a few elongated seconds. Then, another, and after that some more, and soon he’s melted into a noise akin to a song. A hesitant song, that is, and as the moments pass, Shinji’s concern only grows.

This time, there isn’t any obvious mistake, but the song isn’t really a song, anyway. Within minutes, Kaworu finishes on a low.

Shinji is quiet, before he scoots back just a bit.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks, trying his hardest to keep cool and casual. Hey, he’s just asking because Kaworu is acting noticeably weird, not because he’s worried about him or anything. Nooo, of course not.

All he can see is the back and side of Kaworu’s head, now that he’s perched farther back. Still, he can practically feel the lack of both energy and confidence in the air. There’s a bit of a thump somewhere in the hall, followed by an ominous metallic clamor. They both face it for a moment, Shinji in fright and Kaworu in exasperation.

“What’s that?”

“Hopefully it’s the sound of everyone putting their instruments away. That, or they’re getting them out again. I don’t know about you but I’d much rather the former.”

“... They try.”

“Too hard.” Kaworu says, bunching up his shoulders for a fraction of a second. “Shall I try again?”

Shinji pauses from any sort of thought, before slowly looking back at Kaworu. Had… had he just dodged the question and thought Shinji wouldn’t notice? Mildly offended, the dark-haired boy begins to scowl, before moving forward to Kaworu’s level once more. His scowl is, for a moment, directed toward the other boy. That is, before he realizes just how not okay he appears on the surface.

“Something is definitely wrong.” Shinji says, almost fretting. This is one of those times in which Kaworu’s entire face, for whatever reason, matches his eyes to a disturbing degree. He’s focused solely on the piano, his eyes resilient like a bird’s. Well, whatever this is, it’s sudden. “Are you still tired?”

Kaworu doesn’t reply. Dumbly, Shinji waves a hand in front of the other boy’s face. This, of course, gets his attention, but all he does is slide his gaze in the other direction. Aah, first the sudden napping, and now this? For once in his life, Shinji feels like the level-headed one out of the bunch.

Shinji sets about worrying his head off, and as he does so Kaworu covers half his face with his hand, either in an attempt to hide his monstrous flush or to conceal his breathing. Probably the former, Shinji thinks.

Then, a small sound, almost unnoticeable. However, as Shinji is on high alert, his ears nearly perk up like a rabbit’s. It had been a jumbled sound, but it had most certainly come from the other boy. For a while Shinji stares, before he tilts his head a little in order to look Kaworu in the eye.

“Are you gonna be sick?”

Frantic, Kaworu shakes his head. The warmth hiding beneath his skin spreads to the tips of his ears.

“... Aaare you trying to sneeze?”

The hand that covers his face rakes upward and into his hair, and there it stays, brushing the light, fluffy mess this way and that.

“Is it something embarrassing?”

Kaworu pauses, letting his hands slip back into his lap. At last he turns his head toward the other boy, and straight up, less than an arm’s length away, Shinji sees just the shape of his frown, unsure, akimbo, nervous.

“Okay, I’m a little scared.” Shinji murmurs. Kaworu hides partially behind his own shoulder, hunching up his back.

“It’s very sudden.” Kaworu supplies, his voice airy. Shinji lifts one eyebrow and parts his lips.

“That’s fine.” Shinji nods.

“I don’t think you want me to say it.”

“You’re acting really weird. To be honest, anything is better than this. I kind of want to leave.”

“... Don’t leave just yet, I really did want you to listen. It’s just that what’s on my mind won’t go away right now.”

Shinji lowers his eyelids. “Okay, then. Tell me what’s wrong. Get it over with already.”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m really not. I just want you to tell me. Are you going to die in a year or something?”

Thankfully, this gets the boy to laugh a little, nervous laugh. “I don’t think I’m the sort to die quite so early, no…”

Shinji physically feels the tension lessen, just a bit. However, irony predicts that in approximately thirty seconds, it will come back tenfold and punch him in the face along the way.

“I don’t think I want to say it.” Kaworu breathes.

“Then don’t. Just do what you have to do to stop being weird.”

“But it might be something bad.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“No.”

“Then I can handle it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. I think I love you.”

“Oh. Oh, okay.”

From somewhere in the house, a clock bongs with the hour. This is weird, because they don’t even own a clock that does that. Shinji stares into space, glad that Kaworu had finally said what he needed to say. However, after just a fraction of a second of serenity, the eye before the storm, he bolts to his feet and one might just feel the impact from a city away. “Wait a minute what--”

And the door bursts open. Of course it does. Kaworu stares confusedly at the faces of all of his siblings, most crouched by the door. Shinji is too busy experiencing convulsions to even notice.

The tiny imps, the ones who had left the condoms, proceed to throw confetti in the room, while Sachiel proceeds to wave a banner around with letters written in a truly awful scrawl, coupled with a truly awful pun: It’s Saxy Time.

Then, after just a beat, the siblings filter away one by one, all chattering and cheering. Kaworu is quite sure he sees Ramiel do several cartwheels.

Really, he’s not even mad. All he does is laugh a dry laugh once they’re gone, sniffs a little, and shifts his gaze to Shinji, who is shaking as he stands stiller than a pole.

After a moment of fear, the piano is set on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uH.....


	18. Kaworu is not a Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the things that could have been are repressed.

There’s one lamppost that drags a little behind the rest. It kind of flickers for a moment, before it blinks to life like the rest. Kaworu limps out the door, winded from the chase and wounded in his ankle (he had bent it wrong sprinting down the narrow stairs), and when he had darted through the shop he had completely ignored the cheering and the tea party his siblings were taking part in. 

Bursting out into the evening street like he’s in some kind of soap opera, he huffs the salty, grimy air, whipping his gaze this way and that. Shinji, of course, being the secret government agent he probably is, had already disappeared. Honestly, Kaworu isn’t sure what he had expected. A lone bird is flying in the sky. He sighs, breath leaving him in a translucent puff, and when he does so his shoulders fall from their upward position and into a sort of droop.

He looks at the pavement and realizes that there’s a hole in his ratty old sock, just the perfect size to expose his big toe. Bending down to pull the thing off, Kaworu realizes how weird it feels to be naked on concrete, especially when people are passing by and looking at him like he had sprouted a pair of antlers.

O

Shinji is so proud of himself. Really, he’s such an outstanding human being, hiding in a foreign public restroom that smells far less than sanitary. He’s relatively sure he had just sprinted through a store made for old, dusty violins and broken into the faculty bathroom. Okay, maybe it’s not so public.

Shinji eases his tension, sliding down the tile wall just a bit. He tells himself rather vehemently that everywhere becomes public when you’re running for your life. There’s a knock at the door, and once more he flies into a blind panic, gritting his teeth and sticking to the wall like a wad of freshly chewed gum.

“Are you alright?” says a flat voice.

“Yes!” he chirps in reply, before coughing a dry, nervous cough. There are dapples of sweat running down the back of his neck. After a moment, there’s a series of quiet footsteps, and he assumes that the person outside the door is gone. Once more, he relaxes. Or, well, he does what he considers to be relaxing. Really, he shuts his eyes and unglues his shoulders from the sides of his neck. After a moment, his lashes part again, and he peers through a small crevice at the off-white of his surroundings. The light above him makes a constant buzzing sound.

Shinji stands like that for a while, looking at nothing in particular and trying to bring his soul back from the pits of hell. He realizes rather dully that he’s going to have to leave eventually, and with that thought comes the worrying of how he’s supposed to escape this restroom without an assault of rapid-fire embarrassment. A bubble of air travels down his throat. Maybe he can hide behind a violin.

Steeling everything, from nerve, to breath, and even his toes, he separates from the wall, stepping carefully to the middle of the restroom. His hands are heavy at his sides. That light outside flickers out once more, though he doesn’t see it. He flushes the toilet with the sole of his shoe so as to not seem like a weirdo who hibernates in bathrooms for twenty minutes, even though he kind of is one. Then, he’s outside, and before he can hurry away he thinks he sees a familiar face and his heart trips over a hurdle.

But then it’s calm. Shinji stands, subdued, within a sea of polished wood and wire strings. He resides inside the familiar scene of a cool-haired girl turning the page of a book behind a counter. Red eyes really have become a fashion statement.

The girl seems to notice his gaze and, after what seems to be a moment of contemplation, looks up. Her eyes blink twice. Shinji doesn’t know whether or not to say anything, again, afraid of being dubbed a weirdo. Of course, it doesn’t really occur to him that standing in the middle of a shop and staring at the cashier with an unusual calm in his eyes might dub him as weird, too.

“Are you running away?” she says, soft, but cold. Her face never lifts and she never offers an explanation for such an inquiry.

Shinji’s eyebrows furrow in the slightest way. “Huh?”

“You’re running, aren’t you.” she murmurs, clapping the book shut and setting it on the desk in front of her. “Except this time, you’re not running together.”

A pair of fingers walk icily down Shinji’s spine. He stays silent under the scrutinization of this strange, familiar girl. At least, he thinks, facing this pair of red eyes is a lot less terrifying than facing the other pair. There’s a bit of a stutter in his gut at this thought, and even still, he can feel his heart beating at the back of his neck.

She, too, is really good at staring. Shinji sniffs the antique air and swallows nothing. He feels like he’s suddenly been caught up in some kind of trippy psychological thriller, but that would just be ridiculous.

When she blinks, it almost makes a sound, or at least he imagines as much. Sort of a drop of water falling off a leaf; the littlest rustle. Without a word, Shinji trips over his own feet, and finds the door.

Weird.

O

_“Are you afraid of bugs?”_

In the wee hours of the morning, Shinji nearly drops his phone in the bathtub. If he were to be asked why he’s in the bath when the sun hasn’t yet risen, he’d say he’s eighteen years old and has already lost control of his life. Of course, he isn’t being asked, and more pressing matters are at hand. These matters, primarily, consist of the name and message decorating the screen of his phone. 

Oh, right. Kaworu still exists. Woops. Shinji frowns and blows bubbles partially under the water. He supposes he might have… purposefully forgotten a few things… for the sake of his own mental health. Maybe he’s not blowing bubbles, actually. Maybe his face is so hot under the water that it's risen to a boil.

It’s been three days since he’s last seen the boy. Three days since he’s hidden in a small, decrepit bathroom and been presented with a crude banner. Three days since… since… since ugh, that’s what. Well, not ugh. No. Not quite an ugh, more of an eek. Yikes. Something like that. Shinji stays there, skin wrinkling, staring at the reflection in his phone for at least an hour, his thoughts growing and climbing from things like this and onward.

At last, when he’s migrated before the sink and he’s clothed only in a polka-dot pair of boxers, his fingers shake as they once more open the message tab. He taps the blank, ready box, and then he sighs, tapping elsewhere. Reflexively he scrolls up, seeing all their previous conversations which, when he truly looks at it, aren’t all that plentiful. It seems that when they’re talking, it’s when they’re together rather than apart. That probably means something. Well, maybe. He can’t be bothered to think about it right now.

What’s there, anyway, are all arrangements for some kind of meet-up, or Kaworu asking a ridiculous question. _Are you afraid of bugs_ , he says, and Shinji deduces that it’s no different from _are you allergic to anything_. Except, this time, there’s a blockade between them, he knows it, he can feel it almost physically, and it really kind of pisses him off. Stepping backward and knocking his head on the wall, he actually groans as if he has to go to school in the morning (which he doesn’t), and shuts his eyes.

Just a little more time, and then maybe it would have been better. Just a little more. Although, Shinji thinks he shouldn’t really be surprised. Well, at the timing, not at the matter at hand- oh, he doesn’t know. And would time have helped, anyway? He had just said it would, but now that he thinks about it he seems the type to run around in circles.

 _“Define bug.”_ he types. And, of course, at the time it sounds stupid. He gets rid of it. _“Are you?”_ No, no.

 _“No.”_ he sends, simple, quipped. Standing on wobbly legs, he steps into a tattered pair of pajama bottoms. Nothing planned for today. Residing in a tight grip, his phone is eerily silent.

No, he doesn’t want him out of his life. Of course he doesn’t. Shinji’s thoughts are nearly whirring at the pace of his heart, and so they’re not making much sense, either. Having him go away would be like having his kitchen go away. It’s a pain to maintain, but, in the end it’s all worth it. … Okay, no, that sounds really weird. Kaworu is not a kitchen. Kaworu is a person who is real and who has feelings-- and who has feelings. Feelings for him how the hell does that even happen, _feelings_!

Feelings. Oh, my, feelings. It stops him in his tracks when he realizes that he had more than likely hurt Kaworu’s.

O

Communication is key, Shinji whispers to himself. Communication. It’s all about communication. One cannot achieve a healthy relationship without communication. _R-relationship_. Once more he launches into hysterics. Relationship. It’s a common term, but of course, it’s the wrong term for the time.

Okay. Communication. It’s the key to people not killing each other emotionally, regardless of romantic intent.

This really shouldn’t be so hard, because all Kaworu’s newest message says is, _“Dark chocolate is nice.”_

Yes, yes, it is, when you’re in the mood for it. So are you still in love with me, or.

O

Because if you are I really don’t need you to say it. It’s bad for my health. I’m tearing out my hair just thinking about it.

There’s a knock at his door on a later day, closer to the early half of afternoon. Not thinking much, he toes to the door, feeling a bit like a hermit. It’s been a while since he’s opened that door, and he rediscovers why when doing so sends a blast of cold air into his system. Space heater, space heater, he thinks, and he blinks when he realizes there’s no one there. Not wanting to keep the door open for long, he quickly scans the area, and when he sees something at his doorstep he darts down to grab it before slamming the door shut. It doesn’t occur to him to check what it is, for he’s too busy rushing to his space heater and crouching in front of it like a caveman. Whatever he’s just grabbed crinkles against his chest, and he shuts his eyes, letting himself adjust for only a moment.

Then he looks down, and in doing so it only crinkles more. A plastic wrap, dotted in every color and crumpled like it’s been tossed around. A plastic wrap, with two thick stems in between, two thick stems which at the end feature two soft flames, wrapped like a scarf around a delicate yellow center. Blinking and parting his lips, he sets it on the ground and studies it for a moment. Then, he unwraps the flowers, intent on putting them in some kind of water, before he stumbles upon a note written on a rectangular, white card. It’s when he turns the note over that his brain starts to work again.

Oh, right. Kaworu gives me flowers sometimes.

He’s got the same pretty penmanship as always, and when Shinji lays eyes on it he feels something stupidly familiar come to life in his bones.

_‘We just got these in. :-) They’re a kind of lily and I could only find two that weren’t in our shop. Maybe they’re out of season? It’s weird to only find two yet have an entire supply at our store. I think someone must have broken a law to get them.’_

Clicking his tongue, he sets the letter on the floor and cradles the flowers between his palms. After a second he stands, and after one more second he’s reached the cupboard and gotten a large, plastic pitcher. It doesn’t take long to fill it with tap water and dip the two odd flowers inside.

Satisfied with them on his counter, looking a little rough but all the same sweet, he turns and surveys the colorful plastic and the note.

Without a thought he crosses the small threshold of his apartment to grab them and drop them in the garbage.

O

Days later, Shinji is in his kitchen making soup when he turns his head just the right way to see a tan, jittery spider climbing the wall. Although he keeps an eye on it, he doesn’t move from his spot and continues to stir the soup atop his cheap portable burner. A bubble pops, and its splash burns his finger.

The day after that the spider is gone and he sees the note still lying at the top of his trashbin. Staring at it for what he deems too long, he makes a decision, grabbing it between two fingers and dropping it on the counter next to the pitcher of flowers.

O

It occurs to Shinji two weeks later that he hasn’t heard from Kaworu since the lilies. It sort of sneaks up on him, and when it hits his head like a train he backwashes coffee into his mug, splashing it into the air just a bit.

He sets his mug down and in his head he punches himself in the face.

Yes, of course he had hurt his feelings. There’s no way he wouldn’t have. Before he gives in and actually punches himself in the face, he reaches for his phone, hand sliding across the dappled countertop.

Thinking about it, he taps the boy’s name and stares at a line of ancient messages. Now that he really looks at it, it’s a bit strange to see Kaworu’s name next to a blank, gray icon.

Say what you want to say. Say what you want to say to get your point across.

_“Are you okay?”_

If he asks why, blame the silence. Send.

An hour then passes and Shinji can’t calm down. He tries to clean around his apartment, but in the end he gets distracted, sitting on the floor with his legs across one another, staring at a blank screen. After a ridiculously long period of pining, he prepares to send another message, before pausing and biting the inside of his cheek.

He’s not sure if he’s worried about Kaworu, or if he’s worried about being responsible for hurting him. Just above the screen, he taps one thumb with the other. If it’s the latter, he doesn’t think he has the right to even ask.

For a while he sits and thinks, before reaching the conclusion that he’s a selfish person, and it is, indeed, the latter. Still, he swallows what he knows is right and sends a second message.

 _“???”_ is all he types, and he sends it before he can think to change his mind. It looks weird beneath all their previous talk; Shinji sending two messages in a row is an almost alien feat.

The clock drags on and he watches it, anticipating every change of the final digit. A breath of stale air is swallowed, and he stands, dropping the phone on his bed. With a silent, common sigh, he proceeds to kick every strewn article of clothing at his feet into a haphazard pile. It reminds him of the time when Kaworu had done the same thing, and inwardly, he groans.

 

O

Shinji tries to act cool. His spine is tight and his breath is still, sweat beading down the back of his neck despite the temperature.

Shinji fails.

He’s backed against the side of the flower shop, his chin turned down to his neck and his face scrunched up into a red mess. After a moment, his foot inches forward. Then, it snaps back. He can’t do it. There’s no way he can face Kaworu right now. This is stupid, he should just go home. The heartbeat that was once rapid begins to lull, and he looks up the smallest bit.

With a low sigh, he separates from the wall and eases his shoulders. He supposes now is just that time, and every other time was only a scare. He’ll say officially that this is goodbye to the boy, as Shinji thinks to himself that he’s officially messed this portion of his life up beyond repair. Not only that, but he’s messed up his pride as well, and although he knows to proceed without a hitch, this thought causes him to stop.

Selfish is what he is, that’s been established. Selfish and oblivious and probably a little bit mean. Shinji thinks, too, that when it comes to him in particular, there’s no changing anything.

But, then, he thinks, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like a dumbass, the fact that he’s even considering Kaworu’s feelings a plausible… thing. That, in itself, might be considered its own change, almost. Maybe. He doesn’t know. Wait, though, the whole point of this all was to fix his pride, not to mend the other boy’s feelings.

It almost, almost occurs to him that both objectives might be one in the same, might coexist and work together and make life better for everyone. Almost. The process is stopped by, oddly enough, a car honking its horn somewhere a little far.

Puffing a bit of air through his nostrils, Shinji looks over his shoulder at the flower shop once more. He’s just trying to save himself. Once more he looks ahead and takes another step. Maybe he should just stop talking to people, and maybe he should just stop being sad when things don’t go quite right. He should expect it, really.

There’s a sploosh and a screech.

Shinji arches his back and gasps, trembling all over quite suddenly. He’s launched about a foot forward, and when he regains his bearings his gaze whips to higher ground, where the attack had originated.

Sachiel, despite the impossibility of such an expression, grins slyly his way from a second floor window, drinking glass tipped sideways, its contents running down the dark-haired boy’s spine. Shinji gapes up at the figure, who proceeds to only shake in a tremor of giggles and wave his rake-like hand, disappearing into the building. Bundling up in his thin jacket, Shinji glares icily, before turning on his heel and stomping angrily into the flower shop.

O

The bell chiming above his head only fuels his irritation, and with steam hissing from his pores he marches into the flower shop far more angry than one should enter a flower shop, ever. He seethes in place for a moment, before his gaze darts around the vicinity and he realizes that he’s all alone. Slowly, his frown becomes a little less hysterical. With the tips of his fingers he splashes little droplets of water off his neck.

Letting his hand fall to his side, he realizes that the air in the shop smells like dew and honey. A lot like Spring, he thinks, which is noticeably strange considering the state of the outside world. Not only is the aroma of the place a little off, but the sound and ambiance of it is, too. One strip of light in the corner by the fertilizer is flickering, and another by the register is completely burnt out. There’s creaking in the ceiling, and a light melody filtering in from beyond the hidden staircase.

Shinji’s feet pad themselves forward, and he stands before the waving wooden door. He feels a gaze at his back, and so he looks over his shoulder only to see a woman glancing at him from the outside. Only now does he realize that the shop is closed, and fervently he reminds himself to tell Kaworu, or anyone, really, to lock the door during such hours. It’s not safe, he thinks, before reminding himself of exactly what sort of people live in this building.

No, in the event of a break-in, they’d be fine, surely.

The sound filtering beyond the complacent door is tranquil, and it matches the air quite well. Although, as Shinji allows the tips of his fingers to trace the wall, he wonders if this is such a good thing. It’s peace and solace, but it’s also a little sad, somehow. The way the stroke of a key resounds off the wall sticks around like a cold, it’s haunting, but it’s not hostile. Not in the least. Rather, it’s reminiscent and it talks of something small. All these thoughts filter into his head as he gingerly ascends the stairs, and if he were to actually hold them in his hand and examine them, he’d deduce them to be gibberish. However, in the here and now, when the tune is at a high and he can’t hear the stairs creak, it means something that won’t mean anything tomorrow.

And he’ll miss it. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge it, but he’ll miss it. It’ll be in the back of his mind when he’s not sure why he’s sad, and maybe he’ll hope to stand in the back of the room while Kaworu plays again someday.

Right, yes. This has to be Kaworu playing the piano. Even still, he reaches the top of the narrow, carpeted passageway, and stands small in a semi-familiar hallway. He doesn’t think about stepping forward, nor does he think about turning around. Shinji simply follows the sound because it’s a tune meant to be followed.

His feet move on their own, because that’s the only explanation he’s willing to admit to. Possession pushes him forward through the hall until he’s by a door that’s not quite new yet not quite old, and it’s ajar, so he nudges it with three fingers at the edge.

Kaworu’s room is colder than the hall but that suits him in a contrasting way, and Shinji plants himself at the doorway as he watches the boy play, facing the wall adjacent to the door with his eyes shut, as usual. The gifted piano is on his lap and he’s perched quite primly at the edge of his bed, his fingers doing a melancholy dance.

Shinji makes himself scarce on the ledge, and after two or three minutes he slides down to sit on the floor, knees bent but not quite to his chest. He leans forward, folds his arm atop his legs, and watches, breathing in the wintry air of his own jacket.

Either Kaworu hasn’t noticed him, or he’s ignoring him. Knowing him, the latter is highly doubtful. The boy wears a wrinkled, collared shirt with multicolored triangles along its surface and a pair of old-looking, blue denim shorts. If the dark-haired boy had to put a label on such a statement, he’d say that Kaworu was either trying to look like an elderly man at a beach barbecue, or the carpet of a bowling alley. Fondly, Shinji smiles, hidden behind his arms.

Forgetting the water freezing to the hairs on the back of his neck, Shinji mellows his eyes and tries to relax. But he can’t, because the other boy is in the room, less than a stretch away. This upsets him, because that’s the exact opposite of how he wants their relationship to be.

 _‘Why did you have to say that?’_ he thinks, before he remembers that he had encouraged the boy to say it. It’s just that such a thing was so unfathomable, so, so… so far away. Love has never been something he deserved, and it didn’t suddenly start to be something he deserved when he met Kaworu. No, the bright-haired boy did nothing wrong, it’s just… he could do so much better, honestly. This is the conclusion Shinji has reached, yet he still doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

To an extent, he thinks, with Kaworu’s dancing fingers as a soundtrack, he returns the sentiment. Shinji buries his head and listens. He doesn’t love Kaworu. He doesn’t even think he knows Kaworu. But, Kaworu seems to think he knows him. Shinji wonders if it’s the build-up of breaking this news to the boy that’s got him so distraught. He doesn't want to hurt him and that means something, no matter how small, no matter what selfish motives.

_‘I’m sorry, but I won’t let you lo--’_

“Eep!”

Shinji darts into the light, his eyes peering wide, only to see Kaworu gaping at him in slight shock. They stare at each other for a moment, both with very, very wide eyes, before Kaworu shuts his mouth, swallows, and breathes out a hello that comes with a familiar shut-eye smile.

The dark-haired boy feels his eyebrows center, raise, and he shifts his gaze to the floor, guilty.

“Hi.”

Without missing a beat, Kaworu turns back to the piano. He breathes in, and he breathes out, and Shinji tries not to notice.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, bending down to grab a tissue.

“I don’t know. I came in the middle of it.”

Although it’s hard to see over him, Shinji realizes that Kaworu is wiping the piano keys with the tissue.

“It’s the piece I’m playing in a week or so. It’s not what I usually do, but…”

“It sounded sad.”

Kaworu nods and looks over his shoulder, a wry smile on his face. “I was told to do something with feeling. To be honest, it’s not my thing.”

For some reason, Shinji had convinced himself that after being rejected, Kaworu had thrown himself into the pits of despair, sobbing, and sad piano-playing. He probably shouldn’t be so dramatic.

“It was pretty. But you’re right, it doesn’t really suit you.” Sad tunes are for people in suits and tears, not people in ugly dad shirts. In his effort to clean the keys, Kaworu accidentally presses a lower key, and it vibrates in the trap of the walls.

They sit in silence for too long, listening to the sound die.

Shinji takes a breath. He repeats the countless cycle of somersaults he’s been doing in his head, and he opens his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” Kaworu hums. Haphazard, he drops the tissue on the floor.

“I’m sorry, for running away.”

At this, the other boy pauses. After a moment, he peers over his shoulder, inquisitive. Shinji feels a bit like he’s apologizing for more than just that.

Kaworu lights into a small, sweet smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *complains about school like a crotchety old man*
> 
> http://www.theuntappedsource.com/image.php?id=1213


	19. Chasing His Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where you're going with this, but, like... take me with you.

“I can’t say I didn’t expect it.” says Kaworu, still with an easy smile. While Shinji is quite sure it was meant to have the opposite effect, it only makes him feel worse. A guttural feeling wells up in his tummy and he tries his hardest to maintain eye contact with the other boy, but in the end he can’t, and his gaze flits between a pair of reds and the carpet. 

Again he wonders whether he’s here to ease the other boy’s feelings or to quell his own guilt. 

The building smells delicate with tea and brings with it a sort of subtle warmth that is much needed. Shinji realizes he should say something, but he’s not sure what. The tingle in his skin reminds him of the icy water gliding down his back, but now he finds that he couldn't care less about that. He’d yell at Sachiel another day. For now, what matters is whether or not he can detect a hint of sadness behind his pale friend’s eyes. 

There’s a sound, sort of like a whistle, the dragging of skin on a duvet, and Shinji looks up to see Kaworu standing, placing his piano in its dubbed corner. For a while he’s still and the dark-haired boy has the opportunity to look at his back. As his eyes trace a set of thin, angular shoulders, the guttural feeling wells up and he thinks to himself that Kaworu deserves the world and more.

From this thought, Shinji feels a striking combination of illness and 'uuuuuugh'.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” says the boy in question, turning to face Shinji. Suddenly he feels on the spot. He falters at Kaworu’s unwavering stare, and he’s reminded of when they first met, when that stare was an odd and alien idea. The guttural feeling within him sinks lower and lower. 

It occurs to Shinji that he really  _ doesn’t _ want to go anywhere. Hell, he’s lucky he’s here in the first place. However, he thinks he owes it to Kaworu to do pretty much anything, and that includes getting off his nervous, panicking ass.

“Like where?”

“Like somewhere.” is the reply, laden with a smile. “I promise, you won’t hate it.”

Shinji allows himself a slow blink, before he pushes his palms upon his knees and stands. The floor creaks beneath his weight, and instead of looking at his eyes, he decides to stare at Kaworu’s nose when he talks. Yet, even an act as simple as that feels cruel. Kaworu either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay.” Shinji says, and like he had a long time before, he mentally slaps himself in the face. 

 

O

 

The dark-haired boy berates himself for his cloudy behavior once more. He had been distracted by a glossy cooking magazine at the front of the convenience store, and after staring at it with his mouth open as he thought about making soup, he realizes that he’s lost sight of Kaworu. Although he knows it’s not a big deal, and how far could his friend could have possibly gone in a convenience store, Shinji feels like a bad person. He supposes that now everything having to do with Kaworu is poised upon a bed of fragile eggshells. 

Which is awful, actually. It’s really awful, and he’s not sure why. Or, perhaps he is. Something cold and wet pokes at the back of his hand, and he sucks in a small, hissing breath. 

“What is it?”

Shinji flounders, turning his head just a bit to face Kaworu and to feel the heat in his cheeks reach the true pinnacle of hellfire. “Uh, er, soup.” he manages, drawing his eyebrows close and glaring at the offending food magazine. “What did you come here for?” he hurries, then, whipping around to face the other boy. Kaworu blinks once, confused, before holding up his hand.

Well, maybe not his hand. Shinji realizes that he’s probably referring to what’s in his hand. He’s still a little spacey. 

“I had an idea.” Kaworu says, letting his hand fall once more. His eyes float to somewhere in the corner, and Shinji has to make an effort to realize as much as his gaze is completely fixed on the carton of juice in the other boy’s hand. “But now that it’s actually happening I feel a little silly.” 

Orange juice. Shinji looks up, and there’s a small moment in which their eyes meet, before he can’t stand it anymore and his iris flits to the left. Damn it. Sometimes, he really hates himself. 

Footsteps, then. He supposes Kaworu is going to pay for the juice. A moment later, the footfalls return, and Shinji looks up. Kaworu is smiling.

“I suppose it was rather silly.” he says. There’s nothing in his hands. 

There’s a song playing over the intercom of the convenience store, sort of like elevator music but a little off. A jingly cover of a popular tune, perhaps. 

Shinji tries his absolute hardest not to cry. In the end, after they leave and they’re unsure of where they’re going, he inevitably fails.

 

O

 

The walk seems longer than it truly is, Shinji remarks in his head. He’s got his hands resting in the lint-tattered confines of his pockets, and bitterly he peers at the earth beneath his feet. Now, his head throbs a little, and he’s certain it’s from the earlier tears he prays Kaworu hadn’t noticed. 

Oh, god, he wants to go home. 

Before he can even process this thought, there’s a bell jangling above his head and they’re in a familiar flower shop. Shinji swallows a heap of dry air. Perhaps it would have been better if he had never left home. Dully he recalls that he had come originally to mend things with the other boy, but in the end he had only succeeded in making himself cry. 

“I suppose I could practice some more. It’s such an empty day.” says a voice to his right. Shinji looks up, then, and finds that Kaworu is gazing almost listlessly at a vase of white roses. The bright-haired boy turns to him, then, and smiles. Shinji hopes his face doesn’t show any evidence of upset, and only when he’s fretting over this does he realize that Kaworu is, in actuality, about a finger’s width away from smiling. His lips are upturned, but when Shinji sees his eyes, all he can think of is a cat who blinks slowly as it falls asleep. There’s something there, he thinks, and although he’s never been one to think that reading someone from their eyes actually works, whatever is there makes him feel both better and worse.

Better, in that Kaworu could actually be a sleepy cat. Worse, in that his smile is evidently a small stretch from the truth.

There's probably an explosion somewhere, or a rickety dam bursting with water.

“Don’t do that.”

Kaworu blinks. “Hm?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t… practice?”

“No. The other thing. Stop doing that.” 

In confusion and concern, Kaworu’s smile morphs into a tiny, almost perfect circle. He doesn’t say anything. 

Shinji sucks in a floral-scented breath. “Stop it!”

“I--”

“All I feel about all this is horrible now, and so do  _ you _ , I can tell, so…”

Kaworu turns his back to him, and Shinji bites his lip as the other boy briskly walks away. Yeah, he’s mad. He has a right to be, too, and-- and something taps him on the head. Free from whatever spell he had been dazed by, Shinji looks up, to find the other boy patting his head with something with far too many corners to be his hand. He reaches upward, and the tips of his fingers come into contact with something stiff and cardboard. Feeling around some more, he realizes it’s a tissue box. 

“You had no reason to apologize.” Kaworu says, almost smiling once more. He looks a little less taut, though. 

Quieted, Shinji takes hold of the small box and poises it weakly in front of himself. Kaworu sets about pulling out a few tissues and papping them all over the other boy’s cheeks. It occurs to Shinji only now that he’s crying. Again. Sometimes, he wishes he didn’t exist. 

“I’m sorry.” is the next thing out of Kaworu’s mouth, and he says this with his hands on Shinji’s face, covered in soft, powdery tissues and a plethora of stupidly salty droplets.

In his partially catatonic mind, Shinji begins to realize just what is going on. Subconsciously, his jaw begins to clench.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” Kaworu goes on, “and now you’re upset and I feel awful.”

In frustration, Shinji’s hands ball up into fists. That thing in the other boy’s eyes is by no means anger. No, it’s guilt. Unfathomable guilt, really. Shinji allows his eyelids do draw downward, fastening tight. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and with this he manages to calm his tears, for at least a moment.

The guilt is unfathomable, in that it really, truly should not be where it is.

“You shouldn’t apologize either.”

Kaworu’s hands still, and he stares pensively at the other boy. 

“I’m the one who ran and hid in a violin store. You were just saying what you needed to say.”

“You hid in a violin store?”

“That’s not the point.” Shinji’s knees begin to quiver. God, he is going to take  _ the biggest  _ nap when he gets home. “The point is you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. You should be mad at me.”

The bright-haired boy is still for a while. His hands fall to his sides, and he blinks twice in succession. Then, he looks up at the ceiling. Shinji swears that this silence will be the death of him. Once again, he considers hiding away in some musty public bathroom.

“Hmm.”

Shinji’s gaze falls from the other boy to the floor. 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Kaworu murmurs, his gaze still drawn to the ceiling. He looks down, then, smiling once more with his eyebrows drawn upward. “But, Shinji, you were only being honest, too. What you did was only a reaction to what I said. In truth, I’m the one who caused all this.”

Kaworu turns once more, setting the tissues somewhere unimportant. Shinji tries to stop shaking. Yeah, okay, but your honesty is a lot more acceptable than my honesty, if it can even be called honesty. No, in fact. It’s not honesty. It’s fear, as it always has been. 

“I’m just, I…” he breathes, before shaking his head and drawing his arms upward to rub furiously at his eyes with his sleeve. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Kaworu.”

A stretch of quiet, then, as usual. There’s a tapping on the floor. Footsteps, maybe, but they’re not quite complete. It reminds Shinji of himself when he tosses his weight between his feet. A light sound, too, like a breath. It’s outward. 

Shinji lets his arms fall to his sides. The tile on the ground is pale and it shines, but still he thinks to himself that it must have been a while since they had last mopped. Here he is, saying that no wrongs have been done, yet he feels as though, by just existing, he’s administering a cruel sort of punishment. 

It’s his entire temperament that’s the problem, he knows. It’s him as a whole, the culmination of himself. He thinks and  _ knows  _ deep in his heart that Kaworu deserves so, so much better, and so he hadn’t allowed things to escalate… from his point of view, anyway. God knows what’s going on in Kaworu’s head. 

Perhaps he should look up and find a hint, but doing so requires an amount of bravery that he’s almost entirely sure he doesn’t possess. In the end, he does it anyhow, because there’s a small sound from upstairs that draws his attention. For a moment he gazes into the ceiling just like the other boy had done, before peering ahead once more, only to find Kaworu with an absolutely puzzled look on his face. 

Immediately taken off guard, Shinji blinks, wide-eyed. “What?”

Kaworu tightens his gaze. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re thinking.” he says, his mouth drawn into a rigidly straight line and his eyes glaring in a way that somehow isn’t angry, but pondering. 

In a small, sheer moment of confusion, Shinji feels something akin to what he had felt in a faraway bathtub. It’s not something he can define, honestly. If he were to coin a phrase to describe it, it would be something along the lines of, man, this guy is extremely weird. He sleeps in bathtubs, gets lost on the way to the grocery store, bakes multicolored brownies, and, of all things, gazes at _me_ __ like I'm some kind of intricate puzzle to be figured out. The feeling is affectionate, at least. It reminds him of the feeling of wanting to pet a dog. 

… What a weird thought.

“I’m sorry.” Kaworu sighs, lightening his gaze. “You’re so upset and I can’t tell what’s wrong… if it’s not what I thought it was, anyway?”

“No.” 

“Hmm.”

It’s unpleasant to be studied like this, Shinji thinks. Although, he doesn’t remember being quite so bothered on its previous instances. 

“I’m okay.” he says. Kaworu moves back, presumably incredulous. Shinji tries not to think about the disbelieving gaze pointed his way. He thinks to himself, I just needed to sort myself out. Everything is fine now. It’s just like that time late at night, with the sundaes… and he refuses to think about the state he was in that night. No, this is better than that. Anything is better than the embarrassment he had felt in that long moment.

Back to the beginning, then. It’s all the same. Kaworu deserves better than him, plain and simple. However, he also deserves better than a deadpan rejection. So, he’ll go back to how it had been. 

Regardless of his own feelings. As it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooOOOOOO bo yy  
> I'm sorry, senior year is... an endeavor. That, piled on with the fact that I have the motivation equivalent to that of a crippled sea cucumber.   
> That being said, I'll be working on other fics, too. I know logically I should prioritize this one, but, haha, I can only write this special combination of humor and pining a fraction of the time. It takes MAX POWER.   
> Also, I haven't been replying to comments because like... at first I figured it was fine, because I'm not used to getting this much attention on fics, so I assumed a few extra comments wouldn't really make a difference.   
> Then I realized I have over 200 comments. When in reality, the true number might even be lower than 100... it makes me feel dishonest, or something? I don't know. Yet at the same time I feel bad for not replying. It's a whole big conflict. But I also go and look at old comments, and they're so, so so nice that I sometimes feel like I deserve the number I have, and... it's a struggle I'm thinking too much about yo. I need to just focus on grossly awkward kawoshin.   
> I hope this chapter sort of explains how Shinji feels. That's what it was meant to be, and why it's rather short.


	20. And He Shouted Yup In The Face Of Demise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I don't have any hopes for you anymore."

The next time they meet it’s at a familiar cafe, one decorated with rabbits and smelling of bittersweet herbs. A blender is creating an uproarious, grating sound in the other room, and it eases Shinji’s mind a little, because he can’t really think in tandem with a sound like that. 

A small distance away from him, Kaworu says something to the cashier, presumably his order. Shinji can’t really tell, because again, there’s a blender screeching in the other room. Still, the time comes in which the cashier looks his way, and he blurts his own order with significantly less trouble than the last time they had come here.

Once they get their number, Shinji looks to the floor, following after Kaworu.

_ You looked cold. _

The blender comes to a stop, and he pulls up a chair. Perhaps it’s the same table it had been before, he can’t be sure. That thought is insignificant, anyhow. What really matters is how long ago it had been, when he had burnt his tongue on some tea and guided the bright boy away from the hospital. 

Shinji finds that that the past is much easier to think about than the situation they’re both currently hiding from.

 

O

 

His body swings along with the train, and he thinks to himself that maybe he’s doing the opposite of hiding. Shinji stares at Kaworu’s shoes, for some reason a safe beacon in the massive, public crowd. The boy is sitting beside him, while Shinji himself is holding onto a strap-hang, letting gravity do its work. 

The air smells a bit like salt. 

“If it had been summer, we could have gone to a beach house.” Kaworu muses. Shinji looks to him, finding his profile dimly lit by the cloudy sky. “Instead of the skiing trip, I mean. If it had been summer.”

“But it’s still winter.” Shinji says. He looks back to the rest of the train, and it swings with a strange momentum. “And you guys have that kind of money? For a beach house?”

“Mmhm.” Kaworu nods. “We  _ do _ own a business.” 

Shinji thinks to himself that yeah, sure, they’d have money for a beach house if they had money for, what, six ski resort rooms? He realizes that he’d never really counted, he’d been distracted by other things. In another line of thought he wonders why he had asked in the first place.

“Right.” he says. 

It had occurred to him, earlier when he was in bed, to surmise just why they were going to the beach in the middle of winter. Shinji doesn’t realize it, but he’s chewing on his bottom lip. 

Maybe he’s just thinking too hard. 

“Everything is gray this time of year.” Kaworu says, and Shinji’s thought process reaches a stopping point. Automatically he looks to the window, and his eyes meet the monotone coast. There are patches of snow lining the sand, littered by fragments of dark, driftwood, probably, and he looks to the sun glowing behind the clouds. 

“It’s eerie.” he hears himself saying. Kaworu tilts his head. 

“I think so too, but I also think it’s peaceful.”

A bird glides in front of the clouds.

“Peaceful, huh.”

 

O

 

“I really don’t understand how you’re doing that.” Shinji says, incredulous, stumbling backward as the waves wash over his boots. 

Kaworu laughs, bending to grab another stone.

“That only works when the water is flat.” Shinji continues, digging his feet into the concrete sand. “How are you doing that, seriously?”

Kaworu steps back, his arm bending at an odd angle, before he flicks his wrist and the stone hops across the water, skipping over every last foamy wave. Shinji watches it fly before it sinks with a last ripple, and he blinks twice, shaking his head. “Right? It’s only supposed to work when it’s flat, right? I’m not crazy?”

In response, Kaworu only grabs another stone. Shinji stares at him as he repeats the motion, reeling back before flinging it into the ocean. 

After a moment, Shinji huffs, looking to the ground for another black speck. He finds a stone, grabbing it and bouncing it in his hand a little. He glances at Kaworu sidelong, who only nods and smiles, encouraging. A plane passes overhead. Shinji bends his arm back, twisting himself, before throwing the rock forward, feeling deadpan when it only plops into the water. 

There are a lot of days like this, in which he can’t bring himself to feel uncomfortable. It’s days like this he doesn’t mind, when he can be in the presence of his friend without hindrance. 

Kaworu skips another rock. Shinji looks at him like he has two heads. 

 

O

 

But then there are other days, days when he sees a new message on his phone and his chest feels like it’s being crushed. There isn’t much to be said on these days, but he still gets up, he still makes himself move forward, because he feels, at the very least, that he owes it to Kaworu. 

It’s these days that can be comical and it’s also these days that make him want to cry. 

“It’s still so sad.” he says to the room and to Kaworu, as the final note of the tune rings out. Kaworu sighs. 

“I don’t know what to do.” is the dejected response, and Shinji observes a troubled pair of red eyes, peering into the black and white keys. The house, as always, smells of flora and tea. “I’ve never done something like this before, and it makes me sad. But they want me to be emotional.”

Shinji laughs to himself. “Then, you’re doing exactly what they’re asking.” Kaworu nods. Shinji simpers. “But it doesn’t feel right.”

“Exactly.” 

The light in the room flickers. Kaworu looks up at the fixture, and Shinji surmises that he’s probably thinking about changing the bulb. Shinji follows his line of sight, and notices a crack in the ceiling, ragged in both shape and size. 

“Then don’t do what they ask.” Shinji says, and afterward he wonders why the words had left his mouth. 

Kaworu looks back at him, then, blinking, and Shinji sort of wants to crawl into the ground. “I mean… if it makes you feel sad, you shouldn’t do it.” 

“No, I want to do it.” Kaworu says. He smiles a bit, and the light flickers again. “Not every piece can be happy.”

“But it still doesn’t feel right?”

Shinji starts to pick at the loose thread on his jeans, mindful when the light flickers again, and again. 

“No, it doesn’t.” Kaworu hums. “But, I suppose if there’s something I’ve learned… it’s that happiness isn’t the only thing that’s beautiful.”

Shinji finds Kaworu to be wearing a pensive smile, then. It’s the first time in a few days he’s seen him smile with nothing hiding behind his eyes. That, or he's gotten better at hiding it, whatever it is. 

 

O

 

They go to the beach again, on a day that’s more tolerable. The sun is still in its morning corner, hiding behind their heads and allowing them to see with clarity. Kaworu wades into the sea and Shinji stays behind, wondering what had spurred the other boy to embark in such frigid waters. 

He watches him go farther, until the water reaches his knees. It occurs to Shinji that the other boy isn’t even wearing boots, and an odd frown makes itself known upon his face. Stepping forward, he pauses, so that only the soles of his boots are touched by the water. 

“Kaworu?” he calls, and the boy turns, half his face bright with morning sun. Shinji imagines that he hears him hum in question, but in reality he wouldn’t be able to hear it, what with the crashing waves. The boy blinks, and there’s some orange in his eyes. “Aren’t you cold?”

Shinji watches him think for just a moment, before he sees him laugh, quieted again by the waves. Without much thought Shinji walks farther into the water, conscious of the fact that he, unlike Kaworu, is wearing boots. Kaworu nods, before he shrugs, smiling with no reservations once more. 

Shinji finds himself smiling back, his demeanor rising, before he throws caution to the wind and follows after the other boy. 

“If you’re cold, then why did we come here?” Shinji says, pausing beside the other boy. He still nurses his smile, and a small part of him hopes it won’t go away. Kaworu looks at him sidelong. 

“I think I suggested going to the beach at some point.” Kaworu says, looking ahead once more. His hair is sort of moving with the breeze, and Shinji finds himself wondering how the hell he does that. 

“You did.” he affirms, and his own voice sounds foreign, surrounded by crashing waves. “But that was for swimming, and we can’t exactly swim when it’s,” he gestures to the small mounds of snow mixed in with the sandy shore, “like this.” It occurs to him now that his smile has subsided. He considers faking one, but knows that that would only look ugly on his face. 

“Well…”

“Oh, but, it’s fine.” Shinji adds, quick. He waves his hands in the air before putting them back in his pockets, away from the chill. 

Kaworu’s eyes fall closer to being shut, in that cat-like manner of his. 

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” Kaworu says, simple. His smile is small and he looks again toward the gray tide.

_ “We didn’t have to go anywhere, though.” _ is what Shinji almost says, before he stops,  dread pooling beneath his chest. The water and the air both seem much colder, now, and he’s faintly aware of an abrupt tingling behind his eyes. 

He starts wondering when  _ we didn’t have to go anywhere  _ and  _ you didn’t have to come see me _ are going to meld into one, and at that point he wonders if what he’s doing is truly selfless.

Kaworu is at his left, still, and discretely Shinji swipes his sleeve beneath his eyes. He wonders if there’s something other than awe behind Kaworu’s eyes again, and he wonders why he always has to be the cause of it, and why Kaworu always, always feels the need to hide it. 

 

O

 

_ “Want to build a bookshelf?”  _

Shinji squints at the blinding fluorescence of his phone in the dark, the clock at his side shining some ungodly morning hour. He pats around the mattress for a second, before turning over and pulling the thick duvet over his shoulders. The screen stays, bright and inches away from his nose. 

_ “What?” _

 

O

 

And the next afternoon, he’s building a bookshelf. 

Shinji stands, limp, deadpan, a hammer hanging from his right hand as he props up the side of the shelf with his weight. 

“This is weird, even from you.” he says to the floral air, and at that Kaworu snickers a but, twisting a screwdriver into the wood. He says nothing more, though, and Shinji finds himself lifting one eyebrow in the other boy’s direction. Or at least, what he  _ thinks _ is his direction, as he can’t really see over the massive plank of wood at his side. 

“I couldn’t think of anything else.” Kaworu finally says. 

Shinji thinks he might have heard that before. 

“Why a bookshelf, though?” 

“Sachiel is tired of hiding manga under his bed.”

_ Wait, what kind of man-- _

“Do you have one of those screws?”

“Um.” Shinji pauses, eyes scanning the carpet. There are all sorts of screws assorted into neat little piles, and he isn’t really sure how Kaworu expects him to know which one. “The black ones?” he tries.

“Yes.”

Puffing out a breath, he slides his weight down the board, holding it up still but getting close enough to the ground that he can grab the screw in question. He holds it around the board, craning at an awkward angle and still straining to hold the board in place. 

“Thank you.” Kaworu says, before Shinji’s chest gets hit with a metaphorical golf club and he  _ drops the screw because he just touched my hand-- _

There’s a moment of silence in which all he can hear is his own erratic heartbeat, but soon in his peripheral vision he sees a puff of white peeking around the board. Slowly, he looks to Kaworu, who appears nothing but concerned.

“Is everything alright?” he tries, and Shinji wants to crawl into hole.

He blinks twice, mouth trying a smile but deciding against it in the end, because wow, that felt like an ugly smile. “Yup.” he croaks, and  _ yup.  _ Since when has  _ yup  _ been in his vocabulary? Kaworu’s concerned expression deepens, and oh, boy, does Shinji want to go home. 

_ Yup.  _

Kaworu then bends down to pick the screw up himself, before glancing at Shinji once more, his face curious and still utterly concerned. “If you’re sure.” he says, before Shinji feels the jostling of the board, and knows that the other boy is back to work. 

Shinji is quite sure that if the world were to end in chaos and he was the only human left who could reverse it, in that situation, all he’d be able to say is  _ yup _ .

 

O

 

“I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Shinji flares his nostrils, acutely aware of the fact that this is the third time Kaworu has said that, now. They’re in line for the signing of a book they both happen to own, and Shinji thinks to himself that this is definitely not a  _ last resort, I couldn’t think of anything else _ . He eyes Kaworu from the side, who stands on his toes to survey the line. 

He can’t help but feel like something is off, and after this revelation, he berates himself because  _ of course something is off, you idiot.  _

And still he can’t think of anything to do about it except acting the same as he always has. In the back of his mind, he knows that sooner or later, one of them is going to get tired of running in circles, and, ultimately, that’s his goal. Honestly, the thought makes him want to barf, but he’s convinced himself that it’s for the best. 

 

O

 

“So how’s the boyfriend?”

Shinji stumbles over his own feet and chokes, in that cliche fashion he is wont to do.  _ Maybe, maybe the world is just out to get me and I’m the protagonist of a slapstick sitcom. A really bad one. A really gay one. Oh, god, I did not just think that-- _

“The  _ what? _ ” he barks, steadying himself. The ever-casual face of his landlord is, as usual, the opposite of a comfort. 

“The boyfriend?” Touji repeats, scratching the top of his head and counting the bills in his hand. Evidently his phone had broken, and Shinji had had to deliver rent in-person. While it’s nice to have a social life, it’s something other than nice to be in a lower position of power than  _ Touji _ , and while Shinji realizes that that’s not exactly a great thought, he can’t help but feel he means it when Touji says, “Ya know, the one who dresses like a dad at a barbecue?”

Shinji both rolls his eyes and snorts.  _ I don’t know about barbecue, I think mid-life crisis works better.  _

“So?”

Shinji looks at him like he’s got a flamboyantly green piece of spinach in his teeth. “I don’t have a--  _ boyfriend. _ ” he grits out.

At this, his landlord looks genuinely surprised. Shinji can’t help but feel taken aback. 

“Wait, seriously?”

Shinji nods, still recovering from the word boyfriend. “Seriously.”

“So you  _ are  _ straight?” 

And again, there’s that piece of spinach. It’s not really there, but he imagines it, so that he can wear a perfect expression of disdain. He swears he can feel his left eye twitching, and he takes a deep breath. 

_ That’s part of what I’m trying to figure out and being asked outright is seriously not helping me. _ “Not necessarily.” he says, hesitant, sort of faltering, and Touji knocks a fist against his open palm.

“So you take the other bus!”

“Maybe I take  _ both buses _ , Touji!” A part of Shinji wishes that he could define sexuality simply with a  _ bus _ . Another part realizes what he just said aloud, and spirals into despair, because  _ I haven’t decided that, either, and now it’s even more complicated, and that’s not even the issue i’m dealing with right now-- and why is  _ Touji  _ asking me this, anyway? _

“Ooohh.” Touji breathes. “I’ve heard o’that. Seems like a good way to live.”

He kind of wants to punch him. Just a little bit. Just, kind of. Touji means well, but Shinji kind of, just a little, tiny bit, wants to punch him. He thinks that in another world, he might have. 

Luckily, the subject is dismissed. 

“But that wasn’t what I was meaning to ask. Where’re the flowers?” 

Shinji’s thought process comes to a halt at that. 

 

O

 

_ Maybe he knows what I’m trying to do.  _

Kaworu talks animatedly about mice and how they don’t mean any harm, not really, they’re just trying to survive and Shinji watches as his eyes peer happily into the glass case. A mouse runs on a plastic wheel, tiny legs blurring together and Shinji agrees that it is, indeed, just trying its best. 

_ “It’s normal to go to pet shops and just look at the animals, right?”  _ had been Kaworu’s message at six in the morning, and Shinji had sighed, sort of fond and sort of exasperated. 

_ “Whatever you want to do.”  _ is what he had replied, and in the back of his mind, he thinks that such lax words might never have left him a long while ago. 

A tingling thought still remains, though, even as Kaworu happily proceeds to chatter about hamsters. Where are the flowers? How selfish. At that utterance, he no longer wanted to punch Touji, but rather himself at the genuine  _ loss and sadness  _ he had felt. 

Shinji knows exactly what he’s doing.  _ Of course  _ there would be no more flowers, but the fact that Kaworu has, in his mind, made the sound decision to stop bringing flowers…

He must know something. And in another second, he thinks that of course he knows something. Of course he knows something, you literally  _ ran away _ when he said he  _ loved you _ . 

But it’s all for the best. 

It’s all for the best, because he’ll be able to be happy when this is all over. And that’s all that matters, really. 

The music over the store changes, and it occurs to Shinji then, just then, that he probably  _ does  _ feel the same. He had been mulling it over for a while, but when he looks to the side and finds Kaworu smiling and talking to a rat, he finds that the sight genuinely makes him happy. 

He looks forward again, and finds a sleeping mouse. 

At his sides, Shinji’s nails dig into his palms. Vaguely he hears Kaworu say something about how  _ this one has patches, I’d definitely name it patches.  _

He’s silly, sometimes. He’s silly when the time calls for it but when things are dire, he does his best to be a calming presence.  _ But you’ve kissed him and you’ve hugged him and, _ Shinji isn’t really sure who’s being selfless anymore, or who’s being selfish. 

A feeling, somewhere. He must be feeling something when life takes a serious turn, and yet here he is, talking to a ferret. 

How tired he had looked when they first met, trying subconsciously to figure himself out, probably. How he had  _ cried  _ when he thought Shinji had left for good (that one is still a mystery, really). But Shinji thinks about how he had been open with his feelings then, yet now… the situation is serious, isn’t it? It calls for it, right? So why is he following Kaworu into the bird section like nothing is wrong?

_ Something is wrong  _ had been repeating in his head like a mantra and he had wondered why, because  _ of course _ something is wrong. He had thought he’d known exactly what was wrong, but, then. Then,  _ oh, this parakeet is so yellow! _

And he really doesn’t want to make Kaworu feel sad. 

That’s the opposite of what he’s trying to do. But, if he had accepted him, then, in the long run, he would be sad, too. Because unavoidably, Shinji would mess something up. He’d make it worse, somehow, and then,  _ that’s what you’re doing right now _ . 

Kaworu stares at a cage full of little brown birds with red beaks. He’s not happy, and he’s hiding it behind his eyes. He’s smiling, and suddenly, quite abruptly and quite uninvited, Shinji kind of… wants to hug him. 

Because he wants him to be happy, always. But, if he knows what Shinji is doing, of course he can't be happy. No one would be happy, being predicted like that. His nails still dig into his palms, and Kaworu begins to coo at a green parrot. Green, an odd color. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I think I'm back. And especially sorry to bring nothing but pain back with me, ahaha wow, I just had to go on hiatus right when it got painful, didn't I. Oops. 
> 
> Don't worry. It'll get better. This is a fluff story, after all.


	21. The Pajama Premonition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of me, who is just managing to live on.

Shinji supposes he feels this way anytime he leaves the house, really. An upbeat jingle plays over the loudspeakers, low in quality but high in volume, and he thinks it sort of goes nicely with the whole ‘gross yellow lighting’ thing. Regardless, he feels kind of like he’s floating, but not in a good way. In a hollow, topsy-turvy way, and the line moves, and so does he, shopping basket in hand.

He feels… old, too. He can’t really think of a word to describe the feeling accurately, but when he tries his best he comes out with  _ old, stale, dry _ . Maybe he needs a shower. Then again, that wouldn’t make much sense since he had showered the night before. 

This feeling isn’t anything new, really. Shinji mulls over it like this every time it comes about, sort of a tired  _ oh, it’s you, _ quizzical gesture. If he had to give it a reason he’d say it’s because he’s simply not comfortable, but at the same time, he knows it’s more than that.

Whatever. The line moves ahead once more, and he can hear the cashier scanning items only a few steps away. … It feels weird to walk like this, too. Like his muscles aren’t even there and he’s doing it in a way that’s hollow, as though he’s manually, consciously sending the impulses through his brain to move his legs, and, it’s just weird, he thinks. It’s not pleasant in the least, but it’s not unbearable, either. 

Again, whatever. He tells himself he’s done thinking about it. 

Normally he doesn’t bother coming to markets like these for groceries, but the posters on the front of the building had boasted about an  _ EXTREME SALE,  _ and like most rational people he’s not about to pass up a carton of milk for a quarter of the usual price. The annoying feeling in his gut would probably be a lot less present in a convenience store, but he had ultimately decided to grit through the suffering, all for some cheap milk. 

He realizes that the line had moved ahead again while he was lost in thought, and so with a mild catching of breath he takes a step forward.

There’s only one person ahead of him, now, and without thinking about it he sighs. 

O

 

_ “I’ve been feeding a cat behind our store lately, and now it won’t leave.” _

Shinji eyes the message warily, feeling around the shelves of his rather small fridge for a half-empty carton of milk. After a moment he sets his phone down, deciding to use his eyes to look for the milk carton-- ah, he had left it on the counter that morning. Damn. 

He sniffs the carton and is reminded vaguely of Kaworu sniffing a carton of orange juice. Despite his will, he snorts. The milk doesn’t smell sour, and so, after looking around for any prying eyes (despite being in his own apartment), he pours it into his afternoon cereal. This time he makes sure he puts it in the fridge, and his phone buzzes again. 

_ “I’m afraid it’s sick.” _

At this, Shinji blinks. He shuts the fridge with his hip and starts typing an answer. 

_ “Why? What’s wrong?” _

He shuffles his feet on the tiny linoleum squares of his mini kitchen, setting about leaning back into the counter. Just when he’s tired of waiting for a response, the phone buzzes to life in his hands. 

_ “It doesn’t like being pet.” _

At this, Shinji raises an eyebrow. His mouth puffs full of air and he walks the small distance from kitchen to bed, flopping onto his stomach in possibly the most graceful manner possible. 

Maybe this is a joke, or another Kaworu-ism. Alternately, perhaps the cat really is sick, and Kaworu just can’t find the words to explain why? He blinks tiredly at the screen of his phone, obstructed by an oblong crack in the glass. 

_ “Okay?” _ he sends, raking his nail over the crack. In the grocery store he had managed to drop both his phone and his coins onto the ground in a fit of anxiety, an impressive feat even for him. 

_ “Yes.” _ is all Kaworu says in return, and Shinji shuts his eyes tiredly. 

_ “Why do you think it’s sick?” _

A beat of silence, and then a buzz.  _ “Because it runs away when I try to pet it.” _

_ “If a cat doesn’t know you, it generally won’t let you pet it.” _

_ “It doesn’t like me?” _

_ “I didn’t say that. I said it doesn’t know you.” _

_ “But it’s been here for weeks.” _

Shinji purses his lips.  _ “It’s probably just shy.” _

 

O

 

Sometimes, the weather doesn’t make any sense. On this particular day, Shinji hides beneath the frame of his front door, his body offended by the heavy rain coupled with decently warm air. He supposes that the season might be changing early. That, or it’s just a fluke. Probably the latter, say his pessimistic thoughts, and he curses himself for not investing in an umbrella because god knows there have been plenty of times this season he might have needed one.

He holds a hand beneath the downpour, and his lips form a half frown. The water isn’t cold, but it isn’t warm, either. Deigning not to think about it, he heads fully into the rain, peering at his feet as though his life (and eyesight) depended on it. 

 

O

 

_ “The cat isn’t coming around anymore.” _

Shinji blinks at his phone, breathing heavily from his rush through the storm. Seconds later, he receives another message. 

_ “I think it had psychic powers. It somehow knew we were out of tuna.” _

He wipes his hands on his jeans, mindful not to smear rainwater across the screen of his phone. 

_ “It’s only been a few days since you saw it last. Maybe it just went to explore.”  _ he sends, meaning to be a comfort yet at the same time finding the other boy’s situation just a little humorous. He supposes he’s so used to the way Kaworu talks now that he can hear his concerned tone through even a text message, and at this revelation he simpers, looking up at the clouded sky. 

It feels peaceful beneath the shelter of a bus stop, cheap, plastic glass riddled with rainwater and scratches. Peaceful, in that city kind of way, like the feeling of being all alone on a normally crowded street. Although he can’t say he’s ever experienced such a situation, he can say that what he would feel then resembles what he feels now, probably. 

Maybe an odd breeze decides to blow, as a lone drop of water plops itself on the bridge of Shinji’s nose. He blinks, wiping it away and looking at the street before him rather than the sky.

 

O

 

“It’s two weeks.” Kaworu says over an inexpensive salad. 

“Hm?” Shinji hums around a straw. He takes a mental note that Kaworu can somehow tolerate fast-food salads. 

“There are two weeks until I play at that gallery.”

Shinji’s eyes flick from the salad to Kaworu, who’s looking to his right and stabbing at some lettuce like an exhausted knifepoint mugger. Maybe he doesn’t like fast food salads, Shinji thinks. Maybe he just likes stabbing them.

… Right.

“Are you still frustrated about the feeling of that piece?”

Kaworu looks at him, then, his expression withdrawn in a way that’s not cold, but worried. He wears a smile, but he’s unsure. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m frustrated. I suppose I just want it over and done with.” 

Shinji narrows his eyes before offering a small nod, sipping once more at his strawberry milkshake. He tries to think of something else to talk about, but Kaworu beats him to it.

“I know you’re probably tired of it, but…” he pauses, and Shinji blinks, waiting. “But, would you care to hear it again? I can’t think of anyone else to give me advice but you, I’m sorry.”

A bit of the ice cream is burned from freezing, and Shinji grimaces, looking up at Kaworu with the same sour expression. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and at this the other boy starts to fidget, looking at the colorful yet ragged carpeting of the fast food restaurant.

“Er, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, I’ll-”

“I’ll listen.”  _ You’re not the one who’s being an issue here, it’s me. _

“Huh?” Kaworu stops, cheeks a little pink and eyes a bit wider than usual. He shuts his mouth after this, evidently realizing that he had been gaping.

Shinji furrows his eyebrows, trying to make himself look less affronted and more…  _ confused _ . “Of course I’ll listen, you don’t even have to ask, really.”

For a long moment Kaworu stares at him, and Shinji stares back. (Although, admittedly, he stares at his nose, because despite this sudden bout of bravery he still can’t bring himself to look into the other boy’s eyes). 

“... Alright.” Kaworu says after a moment, his eyebrows furrowing just a little bit and his head tilting to the side. He sort of smiles, before shaking his head in an almost invisible gesture and stabbing the lettuce again. 

 

O

 

For the past half hour or so, the look on Kaworu’s face has been a disturbing contrast between excitement and worry. He wears a small smile, but his eyebrows are furrowed and he keeps looking at a particular spot on the carpet. It makes Shinji a little uncomfortable but he endures it, because being himself, he doesn’t see any other way out of it.

There’s a spare few moments of silence (except it’s not actually silence, because Kaworu is practicing the piano) before Kaworu stops what he’s doing and actually decides to say something. 

“Are you sure you want to come?” he asks, staring at that same odd spot on the carpet. Shinji blinks and turns to face the other boy, who flicks his eyes to Shinji before going back to the floor.

“Huh?”

“Well…” Kaworu says. He does his best impression of a scowl, which just makes him look like he’s about to sneeze. “Do you own a suit?”

Shinji blinks again, his lips parting of their own accord. Kaworu fumbles to explain.

“It would mean a lot to have you there, but, I mean…” he starts, and the piano nearly falls off his lap. He sets it aside, taking a breath. “It’s sort of a formal event, and if you  _ don’t  _ have one, I was thinking that I could lend you one of mine? If you’re comfortable with that, I mean. If you’re even comfortable with going? I completely understand if you’re not, because of-- er, nothing. But if I were to lend you one of mine I’m not sure how well it would fit? I mean we look like we’re about the same size and I personally wouldn’t mind if it didn’t fit quite right, who would I be to mind of course I wouldn’t mind why did I mention that, but I’m not entirely sure if  _ you’d  _ mind--” he takes another breath and Shinji tries to open his mouth to interrupt him, but, of course, Kaworu talks before he can utter even a single syllable. “And I’m not even really sure if you’re comfortable in a suit in the first place, I don’t know, of course I don’t mean anything by that, it’s just that I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and I know you wouldn’t bring it up if that were the case because you don’t like to trouble other people. Maybe a dress shirt would work? Ah, but, it’s going to be pretty crowded, too, and I’m not sure about the air conditioning--”

Kaworu stops babbling when there’s a light slap on his shoulder, and he turns to see Shinji looking at him as though he’s suddenly grown wings. They stare at each other for a long moment, and after this Shinji shuts his mouth, wondering when it had opened. He clears his throat (which doesn’t make sense, because he wasn’t the one just reciting a speech about suits), and decides to speak up.

“Are you… okay?” he tries, and Kaworu slowly lifts an arm to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Yes, why?”

Shinji feels his face scrunch in complete confusion, but after staring Kaworu in the nose for a while he decides to drop it.

“Uh, no, I don’t have a suit.” he says, gaze migrating to the wall. Kaworu tenses up with another breath.

“Then--”

“I do still want to go.”

Shinji watches him deflate, and at the sight of Kaworu’s face reddening a little, he tries not to ask him whether or not he’s okay again. 

“Then… what do you… think?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Kaworu blinks in a way that reminds Shinji of the countless times in which he’s been confused over something the other boy has said. He sits and stares, waiting for Kaworu to do anything other than gape. 

Really, he doesn’t think it’s a big deal.

O

 

“Hey, it’s the convict!”

Shinji stares at the pavement beneath his feet, trying his hardest not to let the plastic tails of the suit cover drag against the ground. 

After about five minutes of confused staring, Kaworu had pulled a black suit in a plastic cover out of his closet and held it up. He may or may not have been hiding behind it, too, but perhaps that was Shinji’s imagination. Either way, at that exact moment, with the garment staring death at him, he had realized exactly what Kaworu was so uppity about. 

_ I’d be wearing his clothes. _

His mind kind of turns into static for a fragment of a second, and in that time he scuffs his shoes on the ground, tripping a little and holding the suit high in the air so that it doesn’t hit the ground. He coughs silently in the dry, weak wind, and decides to focus on not stepping on cracks in the sidewalk, just because. 

“Hey!”

It can’t be helped. It’s embarrassing, but there definitely isn’t anyone else in his life he could borrow a suit from, nor could he ever afford his own. He thinks that perhaps Kaworu had guessed as much, and even though he’s holding something that probably costs more than what he makes in a month, he feels pretty miserable. 

_ Which means he realized that I’m definitely not good enough for this kind of thing. I mean, he’s not wrong. Why do I care? _

A small distance away he can hear someone running, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. 

_ We’ve been over this. Everything that has to do with him is way beyond your level. Hell, you might as well walk in there in your pajamas. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe then he’d realize how  _ not worth it  _ I am. Yeah! _

“Oh my god, wait up!”

Out of curiosity Shinji looks toward the commotion, and is quite alarmed to see a girl running at him with ardent speed, even going as far as to create a dust cloud behind herself. He freezes, knuckles going white around plastic and fabric, and stumbles backward when she finally reaches him. Her hands find her knees, and after a few moments of panting, she tears her gaze in his direction, red hair whipping through the air. 

_ Maybe I should hide behind the suit. _

“I. Got.  _ Fired. _ ”

Shinji opens his mouth, and then he shuts it, the plastic around the suit crinkling dimly in his ears. The girl fumes, her face a shade of red that’s different from her hair but competes with it even still. She  glares death at him for a while, and after searching within the deepest, darkest depths of himself, Shinji can only find the will to stand there like an idiot. 

After a while, she eases up, still wearing a scowl but standing up straight once more. The plastic crinkles again, as if to signal incoming hellfire.

“Do you know who I am?” she hisses, her voice winded but livid. Shinji blinks, then, narrowing his eyes and staring at the girl’s face. Her eyes are quite blue, but other than that all his mind can produce is the instinct to run. 

“... No?”

She clenches her jaw, then, and her hand swipes for his collar. He gulps, audible, and holds the suit away from the probably deranged girl.  _ Maybe this is going to be my first near death experience. I guess that’s what I get for living in a place like this.  _

The girl shakes him a bit, and he stumbles to keep his footing.  _ “I lost my job because of you and you don’t even know who I am!”  _ she yells, hysterical, and suddenly there’s a third pair of hands removing hers from Shinji’s collar.

“Whoa, whoa! Break it up!” chimes a familiar voice, and never before has Shinji Ikari been  _ so goddamn happy _ to see Touji Suzuhara. “What’s goin’ on here?” demands his landlord, as though he’s some kind of professional. Within himself, Shinji finds the energy to shrug and blink rapidly, his free hand reaching up to straighten out his collar. 

“Nothing, I’m just gonna  _ kill  _ this guy and then I’m going home--”

“ _ Kill? _ ” Touji parrots, but the girl seems to ignore him. 

“--to search for another job on my  _ shitty  _ computer in this  _ shitty  _ apartment--”

“Look, I know he has a face you just wanna punch, but--”

“--so that I can afford to keep going to  _ medical school. _ ”

Touji separates the two of them forcefully, looking between the two of them quickly. He pauses, then, nearly elbowing Shinji in the stomach and looking at the girl with eyes the size of moons.

“Wait a minute--  _ Langley _ ?”

She blinks, then, gaze averting from Shinji to Touji. Then, she blanches. “Oh,  _ Scheisse _ .”

Shinji swallows a lump of air.  _ Maybe, if I up my stealth, I can sneak away and just hide in my apartment.  _

Touji then backs out from between them, folding his arms and, probably, trying to look intimidating. As he stands, his legs are spread into an upside-down  _ V  _ and for the umpteenth time Shinji wonders why his landlord thinks that pose is cool. 

“If you wanna keep your apartment, you better explain why you’re trying to  _ kill  _ my buddy Ikari.” Touji then bumps Shinji with his shoulder, probably in an expression of  _ yeah, I know, I’m cool,  _ and Shinji goes back to looking at the ground, deadpan. 

“ _ He… _ ” the girl starts, pointing a finger at Shinji. “ _ He  _ got me fired!”

“Oh!” At last, Shinji decides to speak. He looks up, filled with sudden clarity. “You were the receptionist at the hospital!”

_ “Damn right I was!”  _ she starts forward again, but stops and raises one eyebrow when Touji  _ grunts  _ in an effort to be scary. At that, she kind of snorts. “You want me to explain myself? Fine!  _ Your buddy  _ kidnapped a hospital patient while I was in the bathroom!”

Touji turns to Shinji, eyes wide. 

“WHAT?”

Abruptly and deliriously Shinji scoffs, releasing his collar and letting his free hand fall limply to his side. “Touji, do you believe everything you hear?”

“Well, no, I--”

“Forget it!” the girl, Langley (he had learned her first name at some point, but he can’t remember it now), cries. She points to Shinji with an accusing finger again, her face the picture of pure anger. “All I want is an apology!”

Shinji sighs and tries not to roll his eyes. The arm that’s holding the suit is getting quite tired.  _ I didn’t even do anything.  _ “I’m sor--”

“And a weekly fee of 5000 yen!”

Touji interrupts them both, then, with a laugh. “Ikari. Paying 5000 yen a week. Right.  _ Right. _ ” he claps Shinji on the back, smiling, and pausing when his hand comes in contact with crinkled plastic. 

He circles around him, then, blinking when he sees Shinji carrying a finely pressed suit as if it’s a school bag. Langley…  _ Asuka, right,  _ then blinks, too, circling around to see what all the commotion is about. 

“No way.” Touji breathes. Shinji looks over his shoulder at the two and then turns, inspecting himself. 

“What? What is it?”

“ _ No way. _ ” Touji says again, and the moment he continues, Shinji regrets leaving his apartment that morning. “You’re already  _ marrying  _ him?”

 

O

 

The next day, in the wee hours of the morning, Kaworu sits with a pencil in hand, staring at his handmade sheet music as though it’ll change from the attention alone. To the left, his phone vibrates, and he takes that as a sign to stop torturing himself over this particular piece. 

_ My new neighbor wants me dead.  _

For a while, Kaworu just stares at the message. Then, a moment later, he’s not sure why he’s laughing, but he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's crazy how themes can change. When I first started this fic, it was inspired by one song, and now it's inspired by another, quite different in feeling. Yet the fic flows as its own thing, sort of? I don't know, maybe it's just me. If you're curious about the songs, though, feel free to ask!
> 
> Anyway, here we are!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> cough, hack, whY DID I GENDER THE ANGE L S ughughhu excuse me wow i must be coming down with something


	22. Love is Destructive

_ It’s not you, it’s me.  _

Shinji coughs rather than spits suds into the sink, rinsing his toothbrush with one hand and scooping up more water with the other. 

He wonders, crossly, if other people sometimes startle themselves with their own thoughts. His reflection in off-white porcelain is just as sour as his demeanor as he rises, wiping his mouth with a hand towel. 

_ It’s not you, it’s me.  _

The nostalgic feeling of slapping himself inside his mind resurfaces, and he looks into the mirror stained orange, half his face hidden by the towel. That’s such a cliche, terrible thought to have, he can’t even have the audacity to laugh at it. Though, he’s not sure why it’s so terrible, because if he thinks about everything at hand, it fits his dilemma to a tee. 

Maybe the dilemma itself is terrible. 

After a week of having a nice, crisp suit gather dust in his tiny closet behind closed doors, he had forced those doors open the night before, his eyebrows drawn so low they created their own wrinkles in his skin. The suit hadn’t looked back at him or anything like that, it had just sat there, hanging innocently. A few minutes had passed, in which he had done nothing but glare into dim lighting, before he had allowed his shoulders to relax. Nothing was accomplished. 

He had concluded that night that maybe he should stop blaming the galaxy for his own shortcomings. Auspiciously, he had decided to do something about what’s been plaguing his mind and life for weeks now. 

Something, he thinks. Something is going to happen today, and no one is going to like it. 

But, that’s for the best. 

Anyway, there’s a weird, tiny cut near his left eye, and he can’t come up with a reason for it no matter how hard he tries. He’s relatively sure that the only thing to touch his face in a while had been his own bedsheets, and so he decides that, well, those things just happen. 

They have plans to go the park today, the one with all the ponds and the ducks. It sounds mundane and unimportant upon first mention, and in his head this lets Shinji justify what he plans to do. Well, whatever that is. He doesn’t have a plan, really, but that’s kind of the point. 

He’s decided that he’s going to be honest and upfront. 

_ Yeah, sorry, but I don’t feel the same. Or rather, I can’t afford to.  _

Something like that, anyway.

 

O

 

Despite being okay with being unprepared in the morning, Shinji regrets it now, as he shields his eyes from the weak sun in an attempt to catch sight of Kaworu in a mess of branches. 

At first he had thought the other out of his mind.  _ What are you, twelve,  _ even though he knows that deep within, every adult on this planet secretly wants to climb a tree to the top. Still, the act of actually  _ doing so  _ is ridiculous, especially when you’re an individual in a knitted, teddy-bear patterned sweater whose height is the equivalent of a grown man. 

And so Shinji stands at the base of the tree, worrying his lip and trying not to go blind from the glint in the sky. Every now and then he’ll see the other boy’s jeans, hear a rustle of dried leaves, but other than that, he has no indication that Kaworu is even  _ in  _ the tree anymore.

“... Are you okay up there?” Shinji calls after a while. The tree kind of swings in what looks scarily like a nod, and Kaworu  _ mm-hm’ _ s from somewhere above.

It had been spontaneous like most of their other escapades, and Shinji stands, faintly aware of an ice cream truck (why, when it’s so chilly) parked in the distance. He wonders what he had expected in the first place, probably everything except for  _ this.  _

_ At some point today, I have to talk to him.  _

There’s a brief silence, in which the only movement is a slight breeze. Then, “Shinji, the view is really nice from up here.”

The park is relatively empty, save for the man running the ice cream truck, and a mother with her daughter at the duck pond. He purses his lips together and sidesteps a little, so that the tree blocks out the sun rather than his hand. 

“I don’t see why it would be,” he airs. “All there is here is muddy water and grass.”

Shinji can see now that Kaworu is sat astride a reasonably thick branch. His worry subsides at that; he’s vaguely glad he won’t have to cart Kaworu to a hospital a second time. The pale boy turns to him and smiles, his eyes shutting from the mirth of it. 

“Yes, and it’s very pretty.” he says. Shinji looks at him, framed by the late morning sun and surrounded by monochrome branches. He’s noticed it a few times before, but in the sunlight, Kaworu’s hair glows at the edges. The boy opens his eyes after the smile, and tilts his head to the side, looking at Shinji in a kind of unspoken question. 

Self-hatred has never been so strong, Shinji thinks. He stares at Kaworu,  _ sitting in a tree,  _ and wonders if hurting this particular person emotionally is punishable on a criminal scale. 

If it’s not, it should be. 

He doesn’t really want to go to prison… so he starts climbing the tree. 

 

O

 

There’s the ethereal Kaworu, who sits in trees and smiles like a sunbeam. There’s also the kind Kaworu, who feeds cats and puts up with the likes of Shinji (this attribute coined by Shinji himself). Finally, there’s the panicked Kaworu, who fails at every task, with the exceptions of worrying and crying. 

Anyway, Shinji’s ankle really hurts. He grits his teeth and, with a brief thought of how ironic it is that he’s going to lie  _ today,  _ of all days, lets out a burdened breath before speaking. 

“I’m fine, really.”

“You can’t be fine, with that look on your face.” Kaworu fires back. He may as well have been tearing his hair out, his expression twisted so far into worry that he hardly looks like himself. 

There’s a cloud over the sun, now, and the air is substantially colder. Of course it is, Shinji thinks, damning the world itself. Though he had vowed to stop blaming the universe for his own faults, he can’t very well blame himself for a snapping branch, can he? He tries to put weight on his ankle, and of course it burns and aches and causes seven more kinds of pain.  _ Of course it does.  _

Maybe he shouldn’t be lying, he’s not sure he can walk like this. 

Kaworu is silent for a seemingly long moment, his lips pursed in probable thought, and during this time Shinji thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t have said he was okay. He did so under the habitual preface that whoever was bothering him would leave him alone after that.

_ “Are you okay?” someone would ask, just from the look on Shinji’s face.  _

_ “Yeah, I’m fine.” he’d reply, and then the person would leave, and he’d be left to stew in his misery alone.  _

Except this is Kaworu, so that’s not going to happen. Maybe he should spare that a little more thought, but he doesn’t, because it feels like there’s a chain wrapped around his ankle that just keeps getting  _ tighter and tighter.  _

At least, he’s not crying or anything. It’s like a toothache, kind of. Really, seriously painful, but something that he knows he’ll have to bear with. 

Kaworu breaks him from his trance with an inward breath. “Hospital? Yes.” he says, quiet, articulate, and probably to himself. Shinji blanches.

“Hospital  _ no _ .” he forces, gaining the will to try and stand. For a moment it’s okay on his good leg, before that chain  _ pulls  _ and he lands back on the ground with a thud. 

He can feel rather than see Kaworu freak out at the sudden movement; the air moves with his flailing. “Please try not to move too much.” Kaworu hurries, bracing his hands in the air somewhere near Shinji’s vicinity. 

A deep breath, and then Shinji opens his eyes, not realizing he had pinched them shut during his second fall. He takes a moment to survey the cold, hard grass, before peering up at Kaworu’s flushed face. At this, the other boy recoils about an inch. Shinji realizes then that his expression probably isn’t very pleasant, and so he looks back down. 

“I’ll just put some ice on it at home, I’ll be fine.” It’s silent for a moment, and he tries to relax every last muscle in his body, because  _ ow.  _ “There’s no way I can afford a hospital bill.” 

He hears Kaworu draw in a breath, and upon realizing what he’s about to say, readies a grimace. 

“There’s no way  _ you  _ can afford it either, Kaworu.”

It seems everyone has left the park, except for the two of them. A bird trills in the sky, and the cloud that was in front of the sun begins to recede. Shinji looks back up into the other boy’s face, and he thinks to himself that Kaworu looks so troubled it’s comical. He’s not about to die, or anything… all he needs is a night of sleep, probably. 

“... But,” Kaworu murmurs after a minute of quiet. “How will you get home, then?”

A deep sigh.

 

O

 

That hadn't been as bad as Shinji had thought it would be. 

He's lying in bed, one leg elevated atop a pillow (because they had decided that that's what one does when their leg is injured, at least in movies) and one arm strewn across his forehead. Kaworu sits on a tiny stool brought up next to the bed, and Shinji prays to every god there may or may not be that he can't smell his month-old sheets. 

But, that’s trivial, because now in the silence of his apartment, he has time alone with his thoughts. They’re kind of like acid in his brain, burning through the floor of  _ I don’t want to hurt him  _ and landing in the basement of  _ but I’ll have to eventually.  _

Kaworu is doing something on his phone; Shinji surmises that it might just be reading, as his eyes, in a slow rhythm, move in arcs from left to right. 

He wonders if other people consider this kind of thing normal. They’re not doing anything, just resting in the quiet of his apartment. Wouldn’t this be awkward? Well, maybe it is. Shinji has never really been one to gauge an atmosphere. 

_ Why are you still here? _

“Why are you still here?” he blurts, pleasing the acid in his brain. Afterward he kind of cringes, because something about that had sounded quite harsh. 

Kaworu blinks twice in succession, regarding Shinji with confusion for a moment before easing into understanding. “Waiting for the ice pack to get cold. Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier…”

“It’s fine.” 

Shinji looks in the other direction almost automatically. He listens to Kaworu shift in his makeshift seat, and realizes that maybe this  _ is  _ what a social blunder is supposed to feel like. Stifling, and hiding between the borders of polite and unpleasant. Right then, he decides that he doesn’t like it, and realizes why, exactly, he’s such an introvert.

The clock ticks about 87 times in a momentary bath of silence, before Kaworu pipes up with, “Oh, where do you keep your cups?”

Shinji blinks, his eyes focusing back onto reality. He looks back to Kaworu (at his nose, still) and quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”

_ Idiot, maybe he’s thirsty,  _ rings in Shinji’s mind, before he’s alerted that that is not the case, as Kaworu points a finger at the opposing wall. It takes a moment for Shinji to follow the other’s line of sight, but once he succeeds, he sees a tiny spider with long, spindly legs crawling up his wall. Craning his head to get a better look at it, the clock ticks again. 

“Why not just use your shoe?”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Kaworu look to him, then back to the spider. “I don’t want to kill it, I meant to let it outside.”

The spider pauses its crawl, about an arm’s length away from the ceiling. For some reason, Shinji starts to wonder whether spiders can hear anything. Perhaps it’s a piece of common knowledge he never learned. 

He looks back at Kaworu, idly contemplating from his nose to his shoulder. Too nice for his own good. Surely, he’s been walked all over and exploited throughout his entire life; Shinji wants no part of such cruelty.

“Just kill it. If you let it outside, it’ll only die in the cold.” 

Kaworu hums in thought, and Shinji wonders how good  _ he  _ is at reading an atmosphere. “But then it would die either way. I’ll just leave it alone.” he decides, and his voice sounds like a soft sigh. 

“I’ll kill it later.” Shinji can’t see anything but the insides of his eyelids. “It’s like the mosquito from that time. It’s nothing but irritating, so get it out of the way.”

He’s only slightly pleased to get a reaction out of Kaworu, although it’s nothing but the small widening of his eyes, and only for a second before he’s composed again. 

“... Even so, it’s not its fault that humans find it inherently obnoxious. Just like it’s not a mosquito’s fault that it has to drink blood to live, and…”

_ “Kaworu.” _

His eyes widen again, and this time they stay that way. “What I mean is,” he continues, faltering a little. “It-- it deserves to live, that’s all.”

It’s been a long time since Shinji has seen the red in the other boy’s eyes. Though, in the dim lighting of his apartment, they look a little more like sienna. Regardless, he’s finally staring him in the eyes,  _ glaring,  _ really, despite his pitiful condition. 

They really are a pretty color, a gradient, really, following the light. Kind of beautiful, though the word would never, ever leave his mouth.

A measured breath, then, “Is something wrong?”

Shinji bites his lip, enduring some kind of inner, scathing pain. It’s probably guilt, with a lot more bite to it than usual. 

“Yeah… yeah.”

Sometimes he wonders why he has to be this kind of person. He asks himself why he has to be destructive, why he can’t just accept things as they are. 

_ Because that wouldn’t be right for either of us. There would be nothing but disdain and guilt.  _

“What is it?” Kaworu asks, and Shinji can actually  _ hear  _ the care in his voice. It’s nauseating, like an overpowering dessert. A lot like being shown your favorite food when you’re ill.

“Why are you still here?” Shinji repeats the question from earlier. It’s all in his mind, but he thinks he hears the clock ticking faster. 

“... Because I’m waiting for the ice--”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Behind his racing thoughts, Shinji wants to sew his own mouth shut. Maybe then he could stop hurting people and being a bother, and then, too, would they not spare him a second glance. “I mean  _ why are you still here.”  _

Kaworu leans back, as though he’s standing too close to a moving train. The clock slows down again, a different pace from two unsure bloodstreams. Again, he takes a long time to answer the question forced upon him. 

“... I don’t understand what you mean.”

Shinji feels like he’s talking to a wall. He knows it’s more than that, though. He  _ knows  _ that Kaworu knows what he’s referring to, and now, he’s starting to wonder why someone so universally blunt is avoiding the subject. 

“Yes you do.” His innards kind of feel like they’ve been subjected to zero-gravity, and he finds, in between words, that he’s forgotten to breathe. “You  _ know _ what I’m talking about.” he insists, adding an extra push, in case  _ maybe, possibly,  _ Kaworu is feeling abnormally dense today. 

Though, he hadn’t expected the other boy to shut his eyes while he was mid-speech. He stares him in the face, and is a little frightened by how well his pale skin matches a face with no expression, none but thought. Kaworu is kind of transparent, in that way. Shinji has found that he always wears what he’s feeling on his sleeve, with very few exceptions.

This is one of those exceptions. Or, perhaps, he doesn’t really know anything about how the other operates at all. 

“I don’t...”

Shinji does nothing but groan in response, smooshing the back of his head farther into the pillow. He kicks and kicks at the brick wall in his head, screaming blood at it because  _ who knew he was this stubborn?  _

But then, “... I’m sorry.”

_ Something other than denial,  _ Shinji’s brain jumps, and he props himself onto his elbows, watching red slivers open once more. Kaworu looks back at him, his eyes narrow and his brows far up his head, as though he’s both looking straight into the sun and holding back tears. 

It feels like there’s a needle embedded in Shinji’s throat, and he can’t speak. 

“I’m sorry for overstaying my welcome, it’s just…” Kaworu breathes and looks at his knees, his hair falling over his eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

The needle is swallowed. “No, what were you going to say?”

“I can’t say it.” is the immediate reply. Now, Kaworu looks faintly determined, in the same way that he looks like he’s swallowed something foul. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Out of frustration, Shinji sort of flails his hands to the ceiling. “I’ve never once been comfortable in my entire  _ life!”  _ he bursts. There are tears of anxiety hiding behind his eyes, the kind that surface when there’s too much weight on one’s shoulders. The kind that leaks out of the full bottle, in an attempt not to crack it. “That doesn’t  _ matter.  _ I just want to know what’s going on in your head, why you’re still here with  _ me, of all people.”  _

He tries not to think about how Kaworu flinches as though he’s been burned. 

“Because I  _ can’t figure it out, no matter how hard I try.”  _ his head lands on the pillow again with a poof, and he directs his rant at the ceiling. “I mean, I’m sitting here yelling at you over nothing! Everything is so ridiculous and pitiful and  _ bad  _ around me, so why are you still here? Why do you like  _ me  _ when you could like someone else and be happy with them? Why are you sitting there and not fighting back when I’m being so  _ awful?  _ I can’t stand it, so why don’t you tell me to stop being so terrible, just leave me here, I’m so  _ sick of--”  _

“Please, stop.” 

“-- trying to be nice when all I want to do is be alone so I stop hurting people--”

“You’re crying.”

“-- but even after I  _ insult you  _ you still stay around me, and I want to know why, so that I can convince you to  _ stop it, there’s nothing to gain by being around me--” _

“Please,  _ stop doing this to yourself.”  _

His mouth snaps shut, and the ceiling glares at him still. There’s an awful drum beating, pounding in his head, and he knows from experience that his cheeks are sticky to the touch, that he looks absolutely  _ pathetic, drenched in sweat and tears and red all over, pissed off…  _

I hate myself, so why can’t you hate me, too?

“Stop it already.” Kaworu breathes. His voice is muffled behind something, but Shinji has no energy to turn and see what. He’s talking to the constant ceiling. “Please, stop it.” 

There’s a soft hiccup, and Shinji confirms with his own thoughts that he is, without a doubt,  _ the worst person in the world.  _

“See? I made you cry.” he says to the ceiling. “I’m the worst. So why?”

Kaworu whispers something unintelligible, or at least, Shinji thinks so. Maybe he’s just hearing things at this point.

“What?”

“Hearing you say things like that… it hurts so much. That’s what I’m thinking.”

Shinji blinks.

“That’s what I’m always thinking. I just want you to be happy. I’ve seen you smile, I know you can do it, but I don’t know how, what to do…”

Another hiccup. Shinji feels like he’s melting into the bed. 

“I’m useless. I can’t do anything right.” Kaworu trails off in a whisper. “And… I don’t know  _ why  _ I care about it so much, but I do, and I’m sincerely sorry that I feel that way. If you want me to leave you alone, I will, but, I just--” the floor creaks, and suddenly, Kaworu impedes Shinji’s view of the ceiling. His tears are falling like meteors onto Shinji’s cheeks, and light frames his face like an eclipse. “I just… need you… to promise me you’ll be happy. And then I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

Shinji wonders if he’s been shot full of novocaine. All he can feel is the physical running of his thoughts. 

_ But why?  _ And he had said he doesn’t know.  _ But why me?  _ He doesn’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…

Huh. Within the yellowed walls of his apartment, the light framing Kaworu’s face looks pretty orange. Almost like a halo. How… incomprehensible. Another tear falls onto his cheek, explosive, but the last one, he decides. 

Shinji lifts his hand into the air, keeping it still in an attempt to shoo away that stupid light. His focus wavers, and in that blur he feels such indescribable guilt, so much hatred for himself… but… 

Blearily, his fingers come into contact with feathery white hair, and he can’t see anything but light and red and his own headache, physical, impeding, but he stomps on his own words because he’s such a goddamn idiot, realizing and wondering why he ever thought the other boy ethereal in the first place, smears away dying star tears with one knuckle, and he bites his own lip. 

Kaworu shuts one eye at the hand, expression unreadable, tears drying out. There’s nothing left. 

“Hey…” Shinji hears himself say. Slow, like a cat, Kaworu blinks, saying nothing. “You’re not useless.”

He’s shaking, Shinji realizes. They both are. Despite trying to keep steady, his hand on the other’s face wobbles, and he can’t help but laugh to himself at how pathetic that is. Embarrassed, he slides his hand back into Kaworu’s hair, sweeping his fringe away from his forehead, and well, just playing with it, really, because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and it’s almost therapeutic. 

He pulls him down, then, until he can feel shuddering breaths against his chest, until they’re both trembling so hard that, honestly, it jarrs his injury quite a lot. He’s sorry. If anything, he hates himself more for doing all that. He despises himself for hurting someone like-- no, well, for hurting  _ Kaworu.  _ But…

“You make me happy.”

It hurts. 

I don’t know. I’m useless.

It doesn’t hurt,  _ because you’re not. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ٩( ᐛ )و i cried while writing this that never happens
> 
> Fun Fact: Kaworu was reading about how to care for injured people. It was a WikiHow article, with terrible illustrations. He doesn't know the first thing about the internet. 
> 
> Sorry about typos or oversights in grammar, I'm going to bed.


	23. I Left the Closet at 3:29 PM on a Wednesday

He hates feeling this way. Shinji glares up at the ceiling as though it’s purposefully wronged him. He hates that he can't face anything, whether it be good or bad, without overreacting, and that he can't simply exist without forcing himself to bring his own self worth into the equation. He despises that life plays out in such a way that he can't be alone, and not hurt anyone. That these things called feelings exist, and that in separate vessels, feelings clash and kill each other. Shinji hates life, for making him love things, and subsequently making him hurt things.

He brushes the tips of his fingers through Kaworu’s hair, kind of lost in thought, but also kind of just… marvelling at the fact that he can  _ do  _ that. His hair is soft, of course. The hair of the person you like is always soft. 

Though, the other boy doesn’t react in any way. Kaworu does nothing but breathe, in, out, slow, into the front of Shinji’s shirt. It's really warm, but that can’t be comfortable for him, Shinji thinks, especially with the fact that his nose is jabbing him in the ribs, and he’s still half kneeling over the side of the bed. Somehow, he’s reminded of sleeping in a bathtub. 

But, Shinji can’t bring himself to speak up. He can’t form the words,  _ you can just get up here, you know,  _ because then he’d have to start talking again. Instead, he stills his hand, regretfully pulling it away from the back of Kaworu’s head. They can’t stay like that forever.

Not seconds later, the other boy lifts his face from Shinji’s shirt, opening bloodshot eyes as though he’s staring into the sun right after a nap. 

_ Oh my god, I’m so sorry, you look so sad I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. _

The fabric shifts as the pale boy moves off the bed completely, sitting on his knees and staring at the floor, his fringe painting odd shadows across his bleak expression. Shinji swallows a lump of dry air. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. At the very least, he expects Kaworu to get up and simply leave. That would be ideal, even after his shabby attempt at reconciliation (if it can even be called such).

Shinji thinks that he deserves that kind of treatment from the other boy, most definitely. There was no reason to shout at him like that. It had been unforgivable. 

Something in him had exploded, but oddly, he feels strangely calm now.

Kaworu looks up, head tilting as it often does. “Your face is awfully red.” he says, and his expression still does not change its form. Suddenly, Shinji thinks he’s seen that exact expression before, in a mirror. Defeated, grim, and red. It surfaces when his eyes hurt from watering too much and he’s got a fissure in his head; he doesn’t like that expression at all, it makes him feel like his head has grown twice its size. He’d never wish that expression upon Kaworu. But even still, when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a cracked, high sound. He's calm, yet he can't think of the words to say.

_ I want to say something, but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do to fix anything at this point.  _

Kaworu looks at the floor again. His eyes do zigzags in the threads of the carpet, before he blinks, faster this time, and looks toward Shinji once more. “Do you want to write it down?”

At this, Shinji feels as though a rubber band has snapped inside his throat.

“I- what?” he manages, blinking several times in succession. He tries to get up, but then he remembers the hard way that his ankle is twisted. Plopping back onto his pillow with a silent but resigned sigh, he raises one eyebrow at Kaworu. 

“You look like you mean to say something, but you can’t.”

Shinji shifts his gaze back to the familiar ceiling. He realizes then that he doesn’t even know what he intends to say, just that  _ something  _ is lodged in his mind, kind of like the urge to forcefully get rid of that damn blotchy, red expression. Get it off Kaworu’s face and see him smile again. It overflows, and in the end he just sighs again. 

He shakes his head. Kaworu looks down again. “Alright.”

A long, dreadful thrum of silence. 

Shinji hates feeling this way. He hates anger, yet he always feels it. It’s nothing but harmful. Mostly, he’s angry with himself, and he knows that even that is nothing but destructive. Yet, he feels it still, despite it doing no good in his life. 

He’s not angry at Kaworu. Not at all. Of course he’s not, how could he be? That wouldn’t even make sense. All this time he’s just been mulling over how angry and frustrated he is with himself, and he hates it to the very tattered core of his being. He even hates how much he hates himself.

“Do you dislike me?”

Shinji’s eyes widen almost simultaneously to these words. He gaze whips toward him and he stares at Kaworu’s forlorn expression for a bit, his eyes wide, before, “Of course not, you’re-” he stops himself, and bites his lip. “No, of course I don’t.”

He realizes that, after all the yelling he had just done, the idea probably doesn’t seem all that preposterous to Kaworu.  _ No, I could never hate you. I just hate myself, that’s all it is!  _

“You just… don’t want to trouble me.” Kaworu mulls after a while. 

A bitter blanket of relief falls upon Shinji’s shoulders. 

“... Yeah, I guess.”

Out of Kaworu’s own mouth, the idea sounds incredibly pointless. Shinji feels like he’s naked in front of a crowd. Like he's just made a fool of himself in front of the nation. 

Suddenly, Shinji is taken by surprise. This admission only seems to make the other boy more upset, rather than relieved. 

“I- I can’t help but feel like we’ve had this conversation before. But this time… this time I…”

A small silence, in which tears start to form beneath a pair of red eyes once more. Shinji wants to cover his eyes so he can't see them, because he hates the idea that  _ he _ did that, that _ he's _ the one who made such a nice person so sad, but… he knows he shouldn't, can't. In this calm afterword he feels the need to take responsibility for his actions, no matter how useless such an attempt may be.

“I only wish that there was a way for you to know exactly how I feel.” At this, Shinji raises his eyebrows. Kaworu breathes evenly yet shakily. “You, you deserve to love yourself. But I realize that… well, I don’t believe you feel the same, no I  _ know  _ you don’t feel the same  _ at all  _ and I can’t  _ stand that…”  _

Shinji blinks. This all sounds pretty incoherent, and he's starting to wonder if the other boy is in his right mind anymore. Maybe this is what a Kaworu explosion looks like, if such a thing even exists. 

A Shinji explosion is dry and cold like the cruel winter, but Kaworu is an entirely different story. He retains his warmth despite being at the edge of a chilly cliff.

“But if that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel. I have no right to change that, and doing so wouldn’t even be possible, but...” he stills, hands at his knees, clutching and releasing the denim of his jeans as though it’s a stress exercise. Kaworu shuts his mouth, then, pursing his lips. “I'm sorry, I know that you don't want to hear this. I should leave.”

“No, keep going.”

The pale boy turns his gaze to the floor once again. He has no intention of speaking further. 

“Kaworu.”

“Mm.”

Shinji stares at him for a while. The flush in the other boy’s cheeks is dying down, but he still looks as though he’s just been told his birthday was cancelled. The ceiling meets Shinji’s eyes once more, and he bites out a tired sigh. 

Just... say what you mean. He finds it ironic how just minutes ago, he had been thinking the exact opposite.  _ The human mind is fickle  _ sounds like something Kaworu would say at a time like this. In the back of his mind, he really wishes they could be having this dastardly conversation in a less awkward position.

“Say what you want. Tell me what you want. You’re not being selfish, I’m the one being an ass right now.” a pause, and Shinji inwardly smacks himself for what he says next. “I deserve anything you need to say to me.”

If he’s learned anything today, it’s to not flaunt his self-hatred so carelessly.

Kaworu opens his mouth, and at first it looks like he means to refute, but then he deflates, eyes narrowing in a way that suggests they sting. He then wipes his right eye with his left wrist, and his lips quiver, quirk a little bit, and Shinji would have thought that that quirk had meant amusement had he not known any better. “Do you, now?” Kaworu says. Even his voice offers a hesitant amusement. 

“Definitely.” Shinji resigns, although he is starting to feel a bit of confusion. Kaworu shuts his eyes and smiles a calm, closed-mouth smile. It looks odd on his tear-strewn face, but soon that thought is thrown out of Shinji’s head, because, 

“I only wish that you’d love yourself as much as I love you.”

_ “Oh my god.”  _ he blurts. Despite his previous statement, that still catches him off guard. Of course it does, his name is Shinji Ikari and he has a monstrous self-deprecation complex.  _ “Okay.”  _ he wheezes, and from the corner of his eye he can swear that for a moment, he had seen Kaworu smile brighter. Though, when he looks directly at him again, there’s no trace it had been there to begin with. 

Shinji stares as though Kaworu had just descended from a green, dolphin-filled sky, and Kaworu does nothing but retain his poker face. 

_ “Why?”  _ Shinji manages after a moment, feeling the muscles in his cheeks pull with the way he says the word. “Why do you like  _ me? Seriously?”  _ he wants to get up and pace, but he can’t because of his injury. 

Kaworu’s expression relaxes, then, and Shinji feels a piece of a burden float away from his shoulders. Only a piece, though. A small sliver. “Oh.” the pale boy says. “For many reasons.”

“Yeah okay, and I just asked what they were, are? Were. Yeah.” he tries to demand, but in the end it comes out flat.

Kaworu shrugs, as if he were reciting his grocery list. “Because you’re kind. Because you laugh at the things I say, I think? It’s hard to tell when you’re laughing sometimes, but no one laughs at my jokes, my sense of humor is awful. Because your eyes are blue yet somehow they’re warm, it's very pretty. Because you make me feel like I’m a valid person. Because you listen when people tell you things. Because I’d like to teach you to play piano someday, and I’d like you to teach me how to make coffee. Because I get excited when I see you, for some reason? Because we do fun things together, a lot of those things I’ve never done before in my life. Did you know I can’t ride a bike? I can’t ride a bike. Because you’re- you’re cute, you’re seriously cute. Because I think you’re the first thing I remember despite a lot of missing space. But in the end I don’t really know, if those are the reasons. I just know that I do.”

_ “Stop.”  _ Shinji cries abruptly, sitting up a bit and rolling over three times despite the pain in his ankle, and ending with his face buried into the pillow on the other side of his bed. He hugs the pillow he finds there close to his face. “Please  _ stop also you only had amnesia for like three weeks don’t be so dramatic.” _

He thinks he can hear the smile in Kaworu’s voice, now, and maybe even the nonchalant shrug. “It felt like a longer time to me.”

And Shinji breathes in his own scent from the pillowcase. He inhales, then exhales, maybe audibly, he’s not really sure and he’s not exactly paying attention to that right now. Then, he kicks his good leg weakly, because damn it he can’t get up and sprint around to wipe all the embarrassment off his mind, and his heart pinches itself awake because Kaworu  _ giggles  _ right then- and…

He’s crying again. He’s, actually, he’s kind of sobbing, quite suddenly and quite loudly into the pillow. It’s hard to breathe this way, but he’d die before showing his face to the open air right now. The sound of Kaworu clamoring to stand and hurrying to the other side of the bed, it, it makes him  _ happy.  _ The hesitant feeling of Kaworu’s hands hovering above his shivering back, the fact that he can physically feel the other boy’s worry… it all makes him so happy, he could burst. 

Then, Kaworu starts a mantra of  _ sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry,  _ fretting as though he’s just accidentally stepped on an animal’s tail, and Shinji wants to,  _ needs to  _ let him know that he’s not upset with him, not in the least, but all he manages is a squeaky,  _ “You can’t ride a bike.”  _ between his choked sobs. 

“I, no, I can’t?” Kaworu pauses for just a second, and Shinji supposes he’s confused, before the pale boy is back in  _ panic mode.  _ “But I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll do whatever you want, uh, need me to do um? I don’t know what I should do I never learned what to do in this situation I’m so bad at this-”

“Hey.” Shinji breathes into the pillow, and the way it comes out, it sounds like a really loud whisper. He lifts his head, kind of hysterical, and staring at the wall, now, rather than the ceiling. The wall is a nice change of scenery from the ceiling.  _ “Hey,  _ Kaworu.” he says to the wall, well aware that he’s grinning so wide that tears are falling into his mouth, making him taste salt. 

Kaworu, after a few moments, utters a small, “Yes?”

 

O

 

“No.” 

Shinji opens his eyes the next morning quite abruptly and unnaturally. He feels as though he’s just woken up from a dream about shattering glass, but really, he can’t be sure, as morning reality is a harsh slap to the face. 

He turns his head and duly ignores the feeling of his heart pounding in his ankle,  _ that hurts,  _ but he has more important things to attend to because- yeah, he’s still there. 

Shinji feels every muscle in his body tense, and he feels every potential breath in his lungs stop short. He stares with eyes too wide for the morning at Kaworu, in his kitchen, with his back to him, talking on the phone and pressing random buttons on Shinji’s coffeemaker. 

_ “No.”  _ he says into the phone again. Shinji blinks, afraid if he moves a muscle, he’ll let the other boy know he’s awake. “No, it’s really fine.” Kaworu says into the phone. Shinji can tell he’s trying to speak quietly, but if he can gather anything from the loud yammering coming from the phone, he surmises that that’s a one-sided battle. 

Something akin to a  _ scream,  _ then, erupts from the phone, and Shinji jumps. Within a fraction of a second, there’s a beep, and Kaworu hangs up the phone, dropping it onto the counter with a clatter. 

He looks over his shoulder, and seems to deflate upon seeing that Shinji is awake. “Sorry about that.” he says lamely, creasing his brows and blowing out a huff. 

Shinji doesn’t reply. In fact, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the details of the phonecall at all. For the past five minutes or so, his brain had done nothing but gawk at the fact that Kaworu was in his kitchen at like- judging by the air, it feels like six in the morning. Kaworu is in his kitchen, no,  _ standing near his kitchenette,  _ Shinji doesn’t even have a kitchen,  _ at six in the goddamn morning because he just spent the night at my apartment oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,  _ and he hides his face under the covers and says absolutely nothing for the next half hour. 

 

O

 

“No, it’s not that they’re mad about the fact that I didn’t come home. They’re just upset that I didn’t mention anything.” 

The rain pounds at the roof, and Shinji looks at the ceiling without much resentment. It’s a calming sound, he thinks. Thunder only adds to the appeal. He hears a shift, and finds that Kaworu is looking at the ceiling, too. “Not that I  _ could  _ leave, with it raining so hard, and…” he looks away. “There were more important things to attend to. I wasn’t really thinking about telling them where I was.”

“It’s their fault for getting so mad.” Shinji offers. He taps his right index finger on the mug in his hands, warm and steaming with coffee. He likes his without much fanfare, but Kaworu had asked for heaps of sugar. Shinji couldn’t afford the fancy flavor-y stuff. “You’re an adult. You can do what you want.”

“That’s true.” Kaworu offers a wry smile. “But, I think they’re only worried.”

Shinji shrugs. They’re different, in that Kaworu has a much larger capacity to care. If it were just him, he’d have shrugged off the scolding and went on his way. Not that anyone would even bother scolding- no, never mind. Never mind that.

“Thanks for staying.” he says suddenly, in a partial effort to cover up his thoughts. It works, because now he’s too embarrassed at the situation to care. 

Kaworu blinks at him, and says nothing. Then, his face splits into a slow smile, and tilts like it always does. Shinji looks away, feeling his cheeks grow warmer than the mug in his hands. He tightens his hold.

_ “Hey, Kaworu.” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “Will you… stay here until I fall asleep?”  _

“I… was awful to you. I’m sorry, I’m such a… sorry.” he starts raking his nails across the glass in his hands, steeling his nerves. He breathes, trying his best to be calm. “Thanks for staying. Not just last night, but, in general.”

A clink, as though Kaworu had tapped a nail against his own mug. Shinji wonders why coffee smells so sweet. 

They’re sitting side-by-side on his bed. Lightly, Kaworu kicks the carpeted floor.

“Of course.” 

 

O

 

“Every day, without fail, Ramiel will leave the counter at 3:24 PM to use the bathroom and take exactly seven minutes.”

Shinji looks at Kaworu incredulously. His arm is starting to get really tired from holding the umbrella (Kaworu had had one in his coat pocket the day before) above both of them. “Seriously?” he mutters, sidestepping them toward somewhere with more cover. They end up in the alley beside Kaworu’s flower shop, and he closes the umbrella.

“Seriously. Don’t ask me, I have no idea either.” Shinji blinks, and Kaworu continues. “But. That’s when we’ll strike. The shop will be unattended, and we’ll sneak onto the upper floor.”

Shinji nods, filling his cheeks with air. It almost seems like Kaworu is talking more to himself than to him, but that’s fine.

“If any customer asks what we’re doing I’ll just tell them I live there. I mean, it’s the truth. The regulars might even recognize me.” Kaworu murmurs. “With any luck, Sachiel won’t be mopping the floors. My room is relatively close to the stairs, too, so…” he places a hand to his chin in thought, and all Shinji does is stare in both amusement and exasperation. 

Abruptly, Kaworu looks to Shinji. “Will you be able to do this with your injury?”

Shinji blinks, then shrugs. “Sure, I feel a lot better after taking those painkillers. But you really can’t just walk in and get it…?”

Kaworu frowns, then, shaking his head and folding his arms. “No. He said explicitly that I wouldn’t be allowed on the premises for a week, until after I played at that place.”

“But I mean, how do they know you’re not out on the streets or something?” 

Kaworu blinks. “I suppose they don’t.”

Shinji blinks, too. Kaworu’s family is so weird, and frightening. “Oh.”

 

O

 

All according to the plan, Shinji has been hiding in the broom closet next to the stairs for the past three minutes. He breathes quietly, watching the minutes tick by on his phone. The house is silent. After five minutes, he’s supposed to throw open the door if he hears anyone approaching the vicinity. Save for Kaworu, that is, who will be shuffling his feet in a very specific way to signal that he is  _ not  _ his siblings. Four minute mark.

That gives them two minutes to escape the building with Kaworu’s piano in hand, before Ramiel comes back to the counter. 

Right. Not only had his siblings banished him despite not knowing he wasn’t starving and cold out on the street, they had  _ also  _ banished him a week before his recital, without access to his piano. Shinji thinks they’re terrifying, yet Kaworu always seems to justify their actions, granting them some kind of leeway. In a way, it seems like some kind of punishment game, which only makes them even  _ more  _ scary. 

Four minutes, thirty seconds. 

So far, no sign of Kaworu  _ or  _ anyone else. The house is almost disturbingly quiet, but then-  _ Shff… shff… shff…,  _ the faint sound of feet shuffling against a carpet. Shinji intakes a puff of breath, tensing his shoulders.  _ That’s it. That’s him. We’re in the clear. I just have to wait for him to get to the door, and then, we run.  _

Although, he is shuffling along awfully slow. Shinji watches the clock. 4:50. He starts silently tapping his foot onto the floor.  _ Shff… shff.  _

The sound stops at the door. He takes hold of the handle, preparing himself to sprint. Turning the knob in such a way that is silent, he slowly opens the door, letting the light from the hall leak into the closet. 

“What took you so loo _ ooooaaaaAA- ow ow OW ow OW-”  _

He’s not sure what’s happening anymore, only that he had opened the door to face a reddish, purple thing that kept  _ smacking him with its tentacles. “Ow, ow, okay OKAY-”  _

“Run!” 

Shinji shuts his eyes tight against the assault, before his hand is yanked and he’s being pulled away from the closet at breakneck speed. He peers into the bright light, adjusting from the dark of the closet only to find the back of Kaworu’s head and a  _ set of stairs.  _

Throughout his entire life, Shinji has never been faced with a situation in which he’s been forced to realize how difficult it is to run down a flight of stairs. He does so anyway, stumbling a bit at the end and being forced to run on his toes, which is also quite difficult, for the record, and as they run they hear Ramiel  _ shriek  _ from the upper floor. 

“Why are they  _ like this?”  _ Shinji cries over the deafening sound, and as they burst back onto the ground floor, several customers gawk at them as if they had suddenly sprouted wings. Which is ironic, because one of the residents of that particular household is literally just a sentient pair of floating wings. 

Shinji is so tired. But, they leave the shop and sprint into the breaking day, and he finds that the sun, when peeking from behind a shroud of rainclouds, is especially warm. 

 

O

 

“You didn’t say anything about  _ snake slithering.”  _ Shinji pants, winded, as they catch their breath a few streets away. “It sounds just like shuffling!”

“Sorry, sorry.” he pants. “The thought never occurred to me. Did they hit you too hard?” he asks, looking up. His brows are creased in worry and his face is red from all the running. 

“No, I’m fine. I don’t think they were serious about slapping me, but- we did it!”

Kaworu retains the sour expression for a moment, before glowing a familiar smile. They’re stood in the middle of the sidewalk, being passed by people left and right, all going about their afternoon business. The sun is still warm, and in his mirth Kaworu swings their joined hands. 

“We did, didn’t we?” he chirps, smiling brightly, before, “Oh.”

He looks down at their hands and his smile falls. Shinji looks, too, and blinks. His lips part idly, and as if time had stopped he stares, realizing just how pale Kaworu is in comparison to him. In fact, next to Shinji, he looks like a ghost. It’s almost funny looking, their hands together like that. It had never even occurred to him how different their complexions are. 

“Sorry.” Kaworu starts, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t realize I was still…”

But Shinji holds on. He stares still at their hands, expression blank. Kaworu frowns in worry, but says nothing, waiting for Shinji to work out whatever conundrum is in his head. 

Then, the dark-haired boy loosens his hold, but Kaworu makes no move to pull away again. He swallows, playing around with Kaworu’s fingers for a moment, trying to retain his lack of expression. In the end, his face does get a little too warm, but he still hooks their index and middle fingers together, giving Kaworu a brief, simpering glance, before he starts to walk, pulling Kaworu along. 

They go home together, like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Tumblr, I said I'd update "tonight". It's 1:30 in the morning. Does that still count?  
> ... Anyway.


	24. It's Like He's Purring Or Something

With freshly washed sheets smelling of lavender and soap, Shinji is, frankly, amazed. He can’t remember the last time he’s been able to smell something so pleasant while falling asleep. 

Earlier in the week Kaworu had insisted on taking his bedding to a laundromat, to which Shinji had protested, no, I can do it myself, thank you very much, only to find his bed made and smelling nice when he got home from class that evening. It's nice, and Shinji has to wonder if he _ would _ have bothered if Kaworu hadn't intervened. He tries not to think about the fact that Kaworu could tell they needed washing.

Regardless, at the moment, he's using all of his mental facilities to focus on the smell of his sheets rather than the warmth of them, and even the cold that comes from the rising and falling and shuffling of the covers. Kaworu doesn't move much in his sleep. In fact, he's quite alarmingly still. Shinji has to stop his own breathing in order to detect Kaworu's. Yet, despite all his calm, he does tend to hog the blankets to himself. In these sparse two days, Shinji has begun to wonder if Kaworu gets cold easily. 

For a long while Shinji has been sitting on the thought process of getting out of bed, but, he doesn’t want to wake Kaworu. He reasons that he probably won’t, as they’re on complete opposite sides of the bed and facing their respective walls, but still, he’s paranoid. 

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry, as there’s an abrupt pounding at his door. 

Kaworu makes a bit of a sleepy noise and sits upright just a little. Shinji jumps and his soul ascends from his body for approximately two seconds, before he sucks it back in.

_ “Ikariii, I'm here to ask for the rent you never pay!” _

Kaworu turns to Shinji then, blinking owlish and barely awake eyes. The dark-haired boy feels his face turn into a furnace, and he throws the covers off of himself, thus covering Kaworu's entire form with them and marching to the door.

Once he reaches the entrance, he stares at the grain of its wood for a moment before looking over his shoulder at the white-haired boy, who had wormed his face out from under the covers. “Um…” Shinji starts, and Kaworu tilts his head. Shinji clears his throat. “That’s my landlord.”

“Oh, alright.”

Kaworu smiles, and Shinji tries his best to return it before turning back to the door. He takes a deep breath and sets his hand on the doorknob, before pulling it open. 

“Whoa! I’m surprised you actually answered the door so early.” Touji grins, putting his hands on his hips. Shinji’s breath stutters, and it’s as though he can physically  _ feel  _ Kaworu’s presence behind him and across the room. Of course, it’s not like he’s embarrassed to be seen with him, it’s just that… Touji, of all people, is more than likely to make a huge spectacle out of nothing. So, Shinji strategically tries to block the doorway’s view with his entire frame. 

“How much is it?” he blurts. Touji blinks, and Shinji puts his hands on either side of the doorframe.  _ Don’t look behind me, don’t look behind me, don’t…  _

“Huh?”

“How much do I owe?”

Touji coughs, before scratching his cheek. “Uh, well, you’re behind two months.”

“Alright. I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.” Shinji rushes, before moving to shove the door closed. Touji stops him with a quirked eyebrow and a hand.

“Ikari, you’re actin’ weird. And by that I mean weirder than usual.”

“What? No I’m not.” Shinji defends, but as Touji’s eyes widen he realizes it’s too late. His fate has already been decided. 

_ “Whoa!”  _ his landlord shouts, before literally pointing an accusing finger over Shinji's shoulder and into the apartment.  _ “You’re  _ here? Daaaaaaaamn, Ikari. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

At a loss, Shinji takes in a heaving breath and rests his palm directly onto his face. He drags his hand down his face, pulling his skin so that his entire expression droops. Kaworu chirps a light ‘hello’ behind him, and Shinji can hear him walk across the room, before going into the bathroom and shutting the door. At the very least, Shinji likes to think that Kaworu had sensed his discomfort and tried to ease the situation. He bites his lip. 

“Guess I should get used to this, since you’re gettin’ married and all.”

Shinji squawks. “Touji, we’re  _ not-” _

“But, Shinji.” Touji interrupts. His voice is suddenly hushed, and this succeeds in capturing Shinji’s attention. “I just thought I’d let you know. Your boyfriend is wearing really stupid pajamas.”

 

O

 

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, really. I’ll just borrow your umbrella.”

Kaworu smiles and shakes his head as he shrugs on a new, knee-length coat. Realizing that he hadn’t brought any clothes, they had both gone to get him a few outfits from the store earlier that week. Shinji swallows, because it looks like it would be rather warm and cozy to hug Kaworu right now. It’s raining outside, and that coat is just a bit too big on him.

“I’d like to come along, if that’s alright.” Kaworu says, and Shinji feels his face start to heat up. There’s nothing stopping him from hugging him, really… 

“It’s just the bank.” he supplies. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes and then we can have dinner. You really don’t have to, but I guess I don’t mind.”

“I’d like to come with you then. I was thinking, we could go out for dinner afterward. I’ll pay, since it’s my idea.”

Shinji blinks. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

  
“I think…” Kaworu trails off, shuffling his feet a bit. He glances at the floor, before looking back at Shinji. “I’d like to. I think it would be nice.” he says, before smiling such a smile that his eyebrows reach up his forehead and his eyes squeeze into little red slivers. 

Looking at the other’s expression and seeing how his cheeks turn slightly pink, Shinji feels a rush of affection. He stares for a moment, before clasping his hands together, so as to contain himself. “Okay. We can do that.” he says, and honestly, he has a hard time standing still.

Sometimes, he thinks about their confrontation the other day, and when he does it feels like the inside of his chest freezes over. It’s almost physically painful, when it happens. Still, he ends up looking at Kaworu, and when he does he finds it within himself to make it up to him.

O

 

At this point, Shinji feels like he’s in an anime or something. He watches the wet pavement, making sure that he doesn’t step on any cracks, simply because he can. His left hand is getting quite cold, holding the umbrella over them both. It’s reasonable to think that he could let go, since Kaworu is holding it as well, but he doesn’t think he should. The idea of Kaworu holding the umbrella over him as they walk is quite… odd, and, since he’s being honest with himself now, he likes how close their hands are. 

In fact, maybe, if they held hands over the umbrella’s handle, it would be warmer. As he puts one foot in front of the other, he thinks about how it might feel to hold the umbrella with Kaworu’s hand over his own. In the back of mind he also wonders which of their hands is bigger, for no reason in particular. Unbeknownst to himself, he starts walking faster, willing away the red in his cheeks and the spinning in his head.

 

O

 

“This is… really good!” he starts, blinking and looking down into the teacup. Shinji sees his own shocked expression staring back at him, accompanied by a few stray tea leaves and stems. 

“Right?” Kaworu says. He smiles and eats a spoon of pink ice cream. “It’s nice to have something warm and cold at the same time. I usually get that kind of tea too.”

Shinji looks again to his reflection in the tea, and back to Kaworu, who gathers another spoon of ice cream. 

“Do you want some?”

Kaworu’s eyes widen a bit as he sticks the spoon in his mouth. “Hm?”

“Do you want some of this tea?”

The white-haired boy takes the spoon from his mouth and sets it into the small bowl in front of him. “From… your cup?”

It occurs to Shinji, then, just what exactly he had offered. Of course, it had been in the back of his mind, the implications of sharing a cup, but somehow, he hadn’t really… acknowledged it. He purses his lips and blinks twice in succession, before meeting eyes with Kaworu and swallowing a pocket of air. “Uh… yeah.”

_I shouldn’t… lie. I_ do _like him…_ _And somehow, he does like me._

Kaworu places his hands on top of each other atop the table. “Are you sure?”

There’s no use in overthinking it, Shinji reasons. His eyes travel around the room like erratic flies, from the wooden posts along the walls, to the hanging lights on the ceiling above them. He has the urge to clap his palms onto his cheeks, as he’s pretty sure, no,  _ certain  _ that he’s blushing like an idiot, but… without really thinking, he grabs the teacup with both hands and recklessly thrusts it across the table. Kaworu blinks rapidly as the dark-haired boy nearly sloshes tea all over their ice cream. He looks to the teacup, and then to Shinji, only to find the timid boy staring (almost glaring, but that’s probably a habit of his) directly into his eyes, with an overflowing red complexion. 

Without much thought, Kaworu nods and smiles, gingerly taking the cup in both hands. He holds it still for a while, just to feel how warm it is and to let the steam rise into the air. Shinji wobbles in place, squirming and looking around the room in a flighty manner. 

Thinking that he should perhaps dispel the situation, Kaworu takes a sip of the tea. It tastes as nicely as it always has; warm and bitter, but with a pleasant, earthy aftertaste. He smiles, and Shinji’s shoulders relax just a bit. 

“It’s as good as it always has been.” Kaworu says. Shinji takes the cup and puts it back down in front of himself. He stares at Kaworu, who stares back in a calm trance. It takes a little bit too long for Shinji to realize he should say something back.

“Oh! That’s, that’s good, then.” 

 

O

 

In Shinji’s apartment, the only power outlet that isn’t near the kitchenette is considerably far from the bed. It’s kind of a pain, but over time Shinji had gotten used to it. Kaworu, on the other hand, pulls anxiously on the cord of his piano as he sits on the floor with his back to Shinji’s bed. 

“I can probably go get an extension cord tomorrow.” Shinji offers. Kaworu tilts his head to the side, before shaking it fervently. 

“No, it’s alright. You don’t have to bother. I don’t want to trouble you more than I already have.”

“It’s not any trouble.” Shinji says. “You’re not bothering me. I like having you here.”

Kaworu looks at the dark-haired boy sitting next to him for just a bit too long, before looking back to the keys before him. Then, Shinji realizes what he had just said. It startles him, but he doesn’t take it back. 

“... Alright.” Kaworu says with a bright smile. Shinji scratches his cheek with one finger, before returning the grin. “Anyway, I did some work on the piece. I think it sounds a bit less depressing, and more hopeful.” 

“Are you happy with how it sounds?”

“Yes, I think so.”

This time around, he doesn’t require any prompting. Kaworu takes a moderately deep breath and poises his hands. It takes him a bit longer to gather himself, since he isn’t used to playing while sitting on the floor. Shinji waits patiently, and in the back of his mind he wonders if Kaworu ever gets nervous when he’s about to play the piano. 

The song starts a fair pitch higher than it had before, and right off the bat Shinji feels lifted rather than repressed. He scoots just a bit closer, so as to get a closer look at the keys. To be honest, it looks a little alien to him, the way the other boy plays the keys so effortlessly. Watching his fingers stretch at odd angles, he thinks that playing the piano is both odd, and beautiful. 

… Or, maybe he’s just being a sap.

Regardless, within the dusty air of his apartment, Kaworu is like a sunbeam. Shinji supposes that he doesn’t really blame himself for feeling sappy, though he definitely still feels the embarrassment worming its way into his head. There’s something about this day in particular, he thinks, that is positively injecting an embarrassed energy into the air. Maybe it’s just him… but he can still feel it. Shaking his head and rubbing his right eye, he tries to get his mind off it and instead focuses on the rhythmic movement of Kaworu’s hands atop the keys. 

He looks closer, trying to memorize which keys make which sounds. It takes a little too long for him to realize that doing so is nearly impossible, especially with the way all the notes blend together, added onto the fact that Kaworu is hitting more than one key at once. Shinji kind of feels dumb for trying to figure it out, but again, he doesn’t really blame himself, because he had been trying to distract himself from rampant embarrassment- oh, there it is again. The embarrassment. Shinji peers further into the keys, to the point that his eyebrows are starting to furrow, and suddenly, Kaworu stops playing. 

Shinji blinks, confused. The keys sit completely still, and after these few intent minutes they look wrong that way. He tries to look back up at Kaworu, only to get a face full of his shirt and realize that he had literally been only a few inches from the piano. Mortified, he stays where he is and tries not to breathe too hard. The fact that he knows doing so would get him a nose full of fabric causes him to shrink in on himself even more, and in the end, it really feels like he’s just trying to bury himself into the shirt. 

“... Sorry.” he murmurs after a stretched silence. With some thought, it had occurred to him that it would be rather hard to play the piano when the back of someone’s head was right in front of your face. 

Kaworu’s chest starts to shake, and with a constricted blink Shinji realizes that the red-eyed boy is laughing, or giggling, even. He sees him take his hands off the piano and rest them at his sides. 

That doesn’t look very comfortable. Shinji stares at Kaworu’s hands and starts to smile a bit, leaning into his chest. He laughs, too, and turns so that he’s fully facing him. Maybe it’s because his face isn’t visible, but he feels a bit more confident. 

“Hey, Kaworu?”

It takes some time for their laughter to subside, but after it does, Kaworu breathes deeply and replies. “Hm?”

“What are you thinking right now?”

Shinji can’t see what kind of face Kaworu is making, nor can he tell at all what he’s feeling, but still, he likes to believe that he probably has a serene smile on his face. “Why do you ask?” and still, Shinji can’t discern anything from even his voice. 

“I’m curious, is all. I guess I’ve never really asked you that question.”

The pale boy hums, and Shinji can feel it traveling through the other’s chest. He shuts his eyes tight. 

_ I know what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that I love you.  _

“Do you want me to be honest?” 

Without a word, Shinji nods. In a way, he’s digesting his own thoughts, though the phrase has passed through his head before. Never when he’s been bundled into the other’s chest, though. It feels like his blood is simmering. The tips of his fingers seem to tickle, and his head feels cloudy. What a nice feeling. 

“I’m… thinking that I want to hug you very badly right now.”

Shinji feels as if something is walking up his spine. He tenses his shoulders, before relaxing again and calming himself down. “What’s… what’s stopping you?”

Kaworu sits still for a few minutes. Shinji can hear and feel his breathing, and, if he concentrates, he can feel his tapping heartbeat, too. Before long he feels arms wrap tightly around his back, and he grabs handfuls of the pale boy’s shirt near his waist. After a moment he feels Kaworu’s chin rest atop the crown of his head, and if possible, Shinji smiles even wider. He’s positive that his cheeks are undeniably aflame, but that doesn’t really matter. Kaworu can’t even see his face, and maybe… maybe it wouldn’t even matter if he could. Not really thinking, Shinji sighs. 

He lets go of the shirt with his left hand, resting it closer to where his face is and grabbing there instead. This honestly isn’t very comfortable. It kind of reminds him of sleeping in the bathtub. That doesn’t matter, though. He’s happy. 

“Shinji?” 

“... Hm?”

Obviously hesitant, Kaworu moves one of his hands from Shinji’s back toward his head, running his fingers slowly through dark, short hair. 

“You let me hug you, and you… you’re hugging me back, too.”

In his socks, Shinji curls his toes together. He loosens and tightens his grip on Kaworu’s shirt, not really caring that it’s probably going to crease. Kaworu is reminded of a cat kneading its paws. He continues his earlier thought. 

“Is it fair of me to ask… what  _ you’re  _ thinking right now?”

“I’m…” Shinji starts, before pursing his lips. His heart starts beating faster than it had before, and that ticklish, simmering feeling turns into a boiling anxiety. Yet, he’s still so happy. It’s an odd combination. Shinji is reminded of something wonderful happening in the morning, and then having to keep quiet about it for the remainder of the day. In less words, he feels like he’s about to explode into a cacophony of emotions and neon colors. “I’m thinking…” he takes another breath, and focuses on the gentle feeling of Kaworu’s hand weaving through his hair. Once more, Shinji shuts his eyes tight.

“I’m thinking that, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bursts through your window wearing tinted sunglasses, a party hat, and a jetpack*  
> -wOOP THERE I T I S

**Author's Note:**

> … please embrace the scattering ties. Strongly, strongly, so that they will not be lost.
> 
> It's been a while since I've written anything of my own so forgive me if I'm a little rusty. See you next time. :)


End file.
